b    1   I     %\     f 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


^'  on  ^^ci^r^'i^  -; 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2010  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/8900tour 


/•<s\  /)  ; 


89 


EDITED  FROM  THE  ORIGINAL  MANUSCRIPT 


EDGAR  HENRY 


CASSELL   &   COMPANY,   Limited, 

NEW  YORK,  LONDON,  PARIS  AND  MELBOURNE 
MDCCCXCI 


COPTBIGHT, 

1888, 
Bt  O.  M.   DUNHAM. 


All  rights  resejiied. 


Press  W.   L    Mershon  &  Co. 
Rahway,   N.  J. 


//^3 


tM  /oz/  0 


^ ''  ^  t  p 


549451 


"  Ours   is   a  never  ceasing  struggle    of    two 
iiiv  AL  coxfederacies." — yokn  Adams. 

••We  have  never  been  one    people    since   the 

ADOPTION     OF     the     CONSTITUTION."  -♦-  TV  ^///(ZW/V/    HaW' 

(.    '  ■ 

i/iorne.  .  'r 

'•  No  ONE  SHALL,  IN  MY  PRESENCE,    CALL  JeFFERSON 

Davis  a  traitor  without  meeting  a  stern  and  de- 
cided DENIAL.'" — L.  Q.  C.  Lamar. 

'*In  that  triumphal  procession  [carrying  the 
LIGHT  of  Christian  civilization]  Abraham  Lincoln 
shall  not  move  as  the  rightful  President  p'-t 
Jefferson  Davis,  the  so-called  traitor,  leader  of 
A  so-called  lost  cause." — Henry  K.  yackson. 

"The  New  South  is  simply  a  natural  out- 
growth OF  THE  Old." — Southern  Newspaper. 

'•The  fall  of  Institutions  leaves  Human  Nat- 
UKE  still  WHAT  those  Institutions  HAVE  made  it,"— 
J^icton's  Life  of  Cromwell. 

"The    most    popular    remedy    fer  sum  uv  the| 
wust  kinds  uv  disease,  is  tu  jest  sware  ther  ain't 
ana'THIn'  the  matter." — yosh  Billings. 

000 


PREFATORY  NOTE. 

In  preparing  for  publication  the  manuscript  of  one 
who  played  so  important  a  part  in  recent  events,  it  has 
seemed  best  to  add  nothing  to  and  take  little  from  what  was 
found  written  therein.  It  is  only  when  the  self-depreciat- 
ing modesty  of  the  patient  sufferer,  who  seemed  anxious  only 
lest  he  should  seem  to  claim  merit  where  none  was  due, 
appeared  to  have  obscured  with  laborious  self-excuse  the 
relation  he  really  sustained  to  the  gi*eat  movement  which 
he  directed,  that  it  has  been  deemed  admissible  somewhat 
to  abridge  his  narrative. 

Perhaps  if  the  work  had  been  written  under  less  pain- 
ful conditions  a  fuller  record  of  the  events  to  which  it  re- 
fers might  have  been  given.  For  the  jjresent  of  course 
this  is  unnecessary.  Those  events  are  so  recent  as  to  be 
matters  of  common  knowledge;  and  it  is  probable  that  his- 
tory will  so  illumine  the  succession  of  incidents  which 
constituted  the  marvelous  epoch  of  which  he  was  the  central 
figure,  that  the  Grand  Master's  disquisitions  will  become, 
as  he  designed  them  to  be,  merely  explanatory  analysis  of 
the  influences  which  shaped  his  character  and  prepared  the 
forces  which  he  employed.  While  arrogating  to  himself  no 
merit  for  the  results  attained,  he  did  not  shirk  responsibility 
for  error.     For  this  reason  he  avoided,  so  far  as  possible^  all 


20  EIGHTY-NINE. 

individual  reference  to  those  who  hindered  or  promoted 
the  designs  he  set  on  foot.  Men  he  judged  leniently,  if  at 
all;  the  forces  behind  them  he  analyzed  with  unsparing 
severity.  Of  those  who  upheld  the  right  he  counted  the 
humblest  as  worthy  as  the  highest,  and  so  passed  no  com- 
parative judgments.  Of  those  whom  it  was  needful  to 
designate  he  wrote  only  as  the  product  of  peculiar  conditions. 
His  narrative  might  have  gained  something  in  dramatic 
intensity  if  ho  had  realized  the  curiosity  which  the  future 
will  feel  as  to  the  hopes  and  fears  Avhicli  must  have  alter- 
nated in  his  breast  during  the  eventful  period  Avhen  the 
result  hung  in  such  even  balance.  This  is  a  sentiment, 
however,  which,  in  common  with  uiany  great  natures,  he 
seemed  utterly  unable  to  appreciate.  AVhat  he  did,  or 
thought,  or  felt,  seemed  always  to  him  a  thing  of  indiffer- 
ence in  comparison  with  the  causes  which  impelled  him  to 
act  and  the  influences  that  made  possible  specific  results. 

In  accordance  with  his  desire,  no  public  display  was 
made  at  his  interment.  Thousands  stood  silent  and  tear- 
ful about  the  open  grave  upon  the  sunny  hillside,  and 
throughout  the  new  nation  he  had  created  without  the 
shedding  of  blood,  a  grateful  people  gathered  in  their 
several  places  of  Avorshi])  to  mourn  a  leader  whom  all  loved 
and  Avhom  none  had  ever  feared  or  distrusted.  His  wish 
Avas  still  law.  No  trumpet  blared,  no  cannon  roared,  and 
no  banner  drooped  above  his  bior.  The  Order  he  had 
founded    vanished   at   his    request.      Its   bright   emblem. 


EIGHTY-NINE.  21 

draped  in  perpetual  mourning,  was  made  by  statute  the 
subject  of  primogenital  inheritance,  or  failing  that,  of 
specific  appointment  by  the  last  descendant  of  that  noble 
host  who  sustained  him  with  unfaltering  confidence  in  his 
patriotic  work. 

His  wish  that  no  monument  should  ever  be  erected  to 
his  memory,  and  no  municipal  or  charitable  foundation 
bear  his  name,  will  undoubtedly  be  respected,  but  the  un- 
marked grave  lying  in  the  shadow  of  the  mountains  will 
never  cease  to  be  the  Mecca  of  those  who  love  liberty, 
justice  and  peace.  In  his  life  he  taught  that  Eight  is 
stronger  than  the  Sword,  and  gold  fit  only  to  be  the  instru- 
ment of  good.  In  his  death  he  has  proved  that  humility 
wins  a  fame  more  durable  than  any  monument. 

This  much  of  explanation  and  apology  seemed  due  from 
one  who  has  undertaken  the  task  of  preparing  for  public 
perusal  the  story  of  his  life  as  told  by  himself. 

E.  H. 


EIGHTY-NINE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

I  who  write  these  pages  am  Ryal  Owen,  the  only  son  of 
Godson  Owen,  late  of  Eyalmont,  in  the  sovereign  State  of 
Georgia,  whose  faithfnl  servant  he  was,  and  for  whose 
rights  he  rendered  up  his  life.  They  would  have  been 
dedicated  to  his  memory,  had  he  not,  by  a  blameless 
life  and  heroic  death,  achieved  a  fame  too  illustrious  to  be 
diminished  or  enhanced  by  any  act  of  mine.  If  only  I 
may  be  adjudged  worthy  to  have  inherited  his  name  and 
to  have  received  the  benediction  of  his  confidence,  I  shall 
be  content. 

The  end  is  near.  I  do  not  know  whether  life  will  last 
until  my  task  shall  be  completed.  I  do  not  call  it  my 
work,  for  that  is  done  already.  I  am  one  of  those  whose 
lives  have  ended  while  they  still  lived.  The  current  of  life 
flows  by  me.  I  was  of  it  yesterday.  To-day  I  see  the  rush 
and  swirl  of  its  dark  waters,  note  its  eddies,  guess  its  force, 
but  do  not  feel  its  power.  There  only  remains  for  me 
to  let  the  world  know  why  I  lived — what  I  hoped  and 
what  I  endeavored.     What  I  did  and  how,  it  knows  al- 

2g 


24  EIGHT  Y- NINE. 

ready,  or  thinks  it  docs,  and  would  not  believe  me  should 
I  question  its  knowledge.  This  is  my  task — a  labor  self- 
imposed,  not  to  gain  praise  or  avoid  blame,  but  that  I  may 
not  seem  to  claim  what  is  due  to  others  or  allow  another 
to  suffer  obloquy  which  I  alone  should  bear. 

I  shall  not  seek  to  tell  the  story  of  great  events ;  nor 
even  of  my  part  in  them — only  my  estimate  of  tlieir  causes 
and  of  the  forces  that  impelled  me  to  participate  in  them. 
Yet  it  is  a  task  from  which  I  shrink,  both  because  of  its 
difficulty  and  the  fear  that  I  shall  not  be  able  to  make 
plain  to  others  what  is  clear  to  me.  My  life  seems  to  have 
been  made  up  of  so  many  elements,  to  have  known  so  many 
influences,  to  have  realized  such  unexpected  results,  that  I 
fear  to  attempt  to  unravel  its  impulses.  Not  that  I  have 
done  so  much.  In  truth,  as  I  lie  here  where  life  began, 
waiting  for  life  to  end,  it  seems  as  if  I  had  done  nothing ; 
only  been  a  dreamer,  a  looker-on  at  great  events.  I  per- 
ceive, too,  that  the  little  I  have  done  has  not  been  of  my 
own  will,  but  by  another's,  or  by  the  fiat  of  a  destiny  that 
made  me  its  creature  by  shaping  my  nature  and  environ- 
ment. Now  that  I  near  the  infinite,  I  question,  indeed, 
whether  I  have  done  anything,  whether  I  have  not  been  a 
mere  instrument  with  which  fate  wrought.  It  matters 
not,  however,  whether  much  or  little  has  been  achieved, 
whether  by  my  own  volition  or  ])y  the  spur  of  destiny  ;  to 
whom  credit  is  due  and  to  whom  blame  attaches  ;  what  is 
done  is  done — what  was  to  be  is  accomplished. 


m 


CHAPTER  IL 

The  setting  sun  shines  now  upon  me  through  the 
narrow  panes  of  the  same  window  in  the  humble  lodge 
at  Ryalmont,  through  which  it  looked  when  it  first  kissed 
my  baby  face.  Five  generations  of  my  forebears  have  first 
seen  the  light  within  these  narrow  walls  ;  poor,  unnoted 
men — all  save  one  whose  fame  was  too  bright  to  be 
clouded  by  disaster — and  honest  God-fearing  women. 
In  the  five  and  forty  years  since  that  day  the  sun  that 
shines  through  the  cleft  in  t1ie  mountains  to  the  west- 
ward has  seen  wondrous  changes  on  the  earth — none  more 
wonderful  than  those  that  have  happened  in  the  land  on 
which  its  setting  rays  now  fall. 

It  is  of  these  that  I  must  write — of  these  and  of  myself. 
Yet  not  of  these  so  much  as  of  tlie  forces  that  lay  behind 
them,  nor  of  mypelf  so  much  as  of  those  antecedent  lives 
whose  tenor  shaped  my  destiny.  I  have  no  quarrel  with 
the  present,  save  that  it  has  been  overkind  to  me.  That  it 
has  given  me  credit  for  more  than  is  my  due  should  not, 
however,  make  me  willing  to  perjoetuate  injustice. 

Gladly  would  I  claim  credit  for  all  that  has  occurred, 
for  I  believe  that  the  future  holds  only  confirmation  of  its 
beneficence.  But  justice — justice  to  those  with  whom  I 
wrought,  to  a  father's  memory,  a  mother's  love,  the  honor 

25 


26  EIQHTY-NINE. 

of  one  dearer  still  and,  above  all,  justice  to  a  people's  life — 
demands  that  I  proclaim  the  truth.  I  sec  clearly  now  that 
what  has  come  to  pass,  apparently  by  my  instigation,  would 
have  occurred  had  I  never  existed.  I  was  not  the  cause  but 
the  instrument — not  the  discoverer  of  truth  but  its  voice'. 
Doubtless  my  work  would  have  been  better  done  if  en- 
trusted to  a  stronger  hand. 


It  is  not  history  that  I  would  write,  only  that  which 
goes  to  make  uj)  history.  I  shall  attempt  no  narrative  of 
what  has  recently  taken  place,  but  only  note  some  vestiges 
Avhich  may  enable  other  pens  to  trace  the  causes  that  lay 
hidden  underneath  the  surface.  My  part  is  but  to  call 
attention  to  the  unseen  forces  that  raised  up  the  mighty 
crests  which  men  deemed  stolen  tides  of  fate  and  show  them 
to  be  in  fact  only  the  ebb  and  flow  of  human  progress.  It 
is  not  history;  only  a  light  to  guide  the  historian  when  he 
tiies  to  walk  backward  through  the  mists  of  time  and  learn 
the  truth  of  the  day  in  which  I  lived.  What  I  may  write 
may  not  even  be  the  truth.  Few  speak  the  truth  ;  and 
fewer  still  think  it  in  their  hearts.  In  life  and  in  death 
mere  facts  obscure  our  vision.  What  seems  to  us  good  we 
denominate  right ;  what  pleases  us  we  call  truth.  Facts  I 
will  relate  as  I  saw  them  ;    causes  as  I  apprehend  them. 

Of  facts  I  need  detail  but  few.  In  these  times  the 
world's  busy  chroniclers  glean  incessantly  the  harvest  field 


EIGHTY. NINE.  27 

of  incident.  What  happens  to-day  is  the  world's  possessioii 
to-morrow.  They  who  follow  in  the  track  of  armies  know 
better  than  they  who  fight  the  tale  of  their  achievements. 
Already  the  story  of  what  so  recently  occurred  has  been 
told  over  and  over  again  by  those  much  better  able  than  I 
to  delineate  the  sequence  of  events.  It  is  only  what  I  felt 
and  thought,  what  I  alone  knew  of  motive  and  purpose, 
that  remains  for  me  to  declare.  Fate  has  set  her  panorama 
before  the  world's  eyes.  I  cannot  add  to  or  take  from  the 
figures  on  her  canvas.  At  the  best  I  can  but  throw  a  light 
on  some  of  them  which  may  show  their  true  relations. 

CHAPTER  III. 

The  real  story  of  great  events  is  rarely  told.  The 
glamour  of  what  is  accomplished  conceals  the  under- 
lying causes  from  the  remote  historian,  while  he  who  writes 
of  matters  occurring  in  his  own  time  is  apt  to  be  blinded 
by  partisanshi]:)  or  the  impulse  of  self-defence.  What  we 
term  history,  indeed,  is  a  record,  often  false,  usually  unjust, 
and  always  incomplete.  To  one  it  gives  more  than  his 
meed  of  praise  ;  to  another,  a  too  abundant  share  of  blame. 
It  judges  men,  not  by  motive  or  impulse,  not  by  the  com- 
pelling force  that  lies  behind  them,  but  by  their  achieve- 
ments— the  result  of  what  they  seem  to  have  done.  For 
after  all  it  is  but  seeming.  Men  do  not  cause  events  to 
come  to  pass.  The  atoms  do  not  move  the  mass  ;  the  mass 
projects  the  atoms  to  the  surface,  rather.     Peoples  create 


28  EIGHTY. NINE. 

leaders.  Those  who  are  called  leaders  are,  indeed,  but 
index  fingers  pointing  toward  the  popular  heart.  It  is  the 
weak  who  make  the  strong ;  the  strong  who  are,  in  fact, 
the  weak.  A  people's  woe  inspires  one  to  attempt  a 
remedy.  He  is  termed  a  chief.  He  is  a  servant,  a  crea- 
ture, perhaps  a  victim.  If  he  succeed  he  is  extolled  ;  if  he 
fail  he  is  accursed.  It  was  not  Moses  who  made  the 
Hebrews  a  nation,  but  the  woes  of  Israel  that  made  the 
peerless  law-giver.  The  smart  of  wrong  has  ever  been  the 
seed  of  right ;  the  suffering  of  the  many  the  spur  that  has 
impelled  the  few.  He  Avho  foretells  evil  may  be  accounted 
a  prophet,  but  he  is  likely  to  be  also  a  martyr.  He  who 
informs  a  people  of  their  wrongs  may  plant  the  seed  of 
revolution  ;  but  only  he  whom  the  tidal  wave  of  approval 
SAveeps  out  of  obscurity  can  ever  become  a  deliverer.  He 
who  speaks  the  truth  too  sooji  wins  only  ignominy.  He 
who  thriftily  waits  till  popular  clamor  compels  him  to  act 
may  achieve  renown. 

Individuals  do  not  determine  the  character  of  civiliza- 
tion. They  who  seem  to  lead  are  but  the  more  distinctive 
products  of  a  common  impulse.  They  are  oftener  thrust  for- 
ward by  forces  which  lie  behind,  unknown,  almost  undreamed 
of,  thaa  the  shapers  of  their  own  or  others'  destiny.  Peoples 
are  no  more  free  agents  tlian  individuals.  Fate  shapes  its 
own  instruments. 

In  monarchies  the  man  may  move  the  nation  ;  the 
story  of  a  King's  reign  may  be  the  ti-ue  history  of  a  people ; 


EIG  H  T  Y-  yiNE.  29 

a  scepter  may  shape  an  epoch.  In  what  are  termed  free 
governments,  individuals  are  not  the  controUing  motive 
]iower.  In  them  the  citizen  is  only  significant,  as  he  re- 
presents more  or  less  completely  some  phase  of  popular 
thought  or  feeling.  There  ambition,  even,  must  run 
in  prescribed  grooves.  No  popular  leader  achieves  his 
own  success ;  he  simply  rises  or  falls  with  the  flow 
or  ebb  of  the  tide  which  bears  him  on  its  crest.  The 
history  of  political  events  in  a  Eepublic  is,  therefore,  hardly 
more  reliable,  as  a  veritable  account  of  national  growth, 
than  the  narrative  of  its  battles  and  sieges.  All  these  are 
only  results — mere  indications  of  more  important  truths. 
History  is  said  to  be  a  chronicle  of  events.  As  a  fact,  it  is 
but  a  register  of  results — a  calendar  of  consequences. 
What  it  omits  is  always  more  important  than  what  it  tells. 
What  is  done  it  records  with  more  or  less  of  truth.  Why 
it  was  done  the  world  is  left  to  guess.  Yet  the  cause  is 
infinitely  more  important  than  the  fact.  Why  the  battle 
was  lost  is  of  vastly  more  moment  than  the  fact  that  it  was 
won  ;  why  it  was  fought  at  all,  more  important  than  either. 
Events  are  transitory ;  causes  immortal. 


I  do  not  know  how  it  may  be  in  the  material  world, 
but  evolution  is  the  inflexible  law  of  mind.  To-day  is  the 
natural  product  of  yesterday.     The  dead,  consciously  or 


30  EIGHTY-NINE. 

unconsciously,  lay  their  behests  upon  the  living.  The 
past  is  but  the  matrix  from  which  the  future  takes  its  form. 
Each  life  is  the  outcome  of  a  myriad  lives — each  generation 
the  resultant  of  a  thousand  generations.  Where  yesterday 
ends  and  to-day  begins  who  shall  say  ? 

Nations  are  not  born  of  man's  will  nor  civilization 
shaped  by  human  wit.  Statesmen,  warriors,  aye,  even 
patriots,  are  but  pigmies.  They  do  not  make  or  fashion 
or  prescribe,  they  only  serve  the  will  and  power  that  is 
behind  them — the  myriad-eyed  and  myriad-handed  but 
single-hearted  people  I  The  past?  a  pulse — a  fate  I  What 
is  it — who  shall  tell  ?     IT  spake  and  I  obeyed  ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 

I  was  a  lad  at  the  outbreak  of  the  War  for  Separation. 
My  father  wore  his  uniform  for  the  first  time  on  my  fif- 
teenth birthday.  It  was  unquestionably  the  most  becom- 
ing of  modern  military  costumes,  and  there  were  few  men 
whose  appearance  it  did  not  improve.  He  was  not  tall, 
but  his  form  was  slender  and  a  model  of  grace.  The 
soft  gray  habit,  with  its  close  velvet  collar  adorned  with 
the  modest  marks  of  rank,  set  off  his  fine  proportions 
better  than  anything  I  had  ever  seen.  Or  was  it  the 
glamour  of  coming  conflict  and  the  boy's  innate  love  of 
martial  glory  and  its  gilded  trappings  that  affected  my 
vision  ? 

He  was  to  start  the  next  day  for  what  was  not  yet  the 
seat  of  war,  only  of  preparation.  His  departure  had  been 
hastened  by  unexpected  orders.  These  things  made  mem- 
orable the  birthday,  which,  without  them,  would  no  doubt 
have  been  forgotten.  The  years  that  had  preceded  it  had 
not  been  numerous  enough  to  bring  regret,  and  those 
which  were  to  come  were  apparently  not  so  few  as  to  ex- 
cite apprehension.  My  father's  transformation  could  no 
more  be  forgotten,  however,  than  his  departure  on  the 
morrow.  To  make  the  occasion  still  more  notable,  the 
intended  commemoration  of  the  anniversary  was  abandoned 

31 


32  EIGHTY-NINE. 

and  I  was  allowed  to  accompany  my  father  on  a  farewell 
journey  to  Kyalmont,  where  we  had  resided  until  a  few 
years  before  and  where  his  aged  mother  still  lived. 

We  went  on  horseback.  Going  and  returning  made  a 
good  half-day's  journey.  My  father  was  a  grave,  earnest 
man,  just  come  to  his  prime.  He  wore  a  wide-brimmed, 
dark  felt  hat,  which  shaded  his  thoughtful  countenance  and 
matched  well  Avith  a  full  brown  beard  that  fell  upon  his 
breast,  Avhich  he  was  wont  to  stroke  absently  when  ab- 
sorbed in  thought.  The  horse  he  rode  had  been  recently 
purchased  with  especial  reference  to  the  service  on  which 
he  was  about  to  enter.  He  was  a  dark  chestnut  of  some- 
what notable  characteristics — hardly  above  the  medium 
height,  somewhat  too  long  for  absolute  symmetry,  but 
round-bodied  and  compactly  built,  showing  great  ease  of 
movement  and  giving  promise  of  remarkable  endurance. 
On  account  of  his  sloping  shoulders,  deep  chest,  heavy 
thighs  and  long  springy  hocks,  he  produced  the  impression 
of  being  what  is  known  among  horsemen  as  short-legged, 
an  impression  due,  in  his  case,  at  least,  to  unusual  muscular 
development.  I  am  not  sure  that  he  was  what  is  techni- 
cally known  as  "thoroughbred,"  but  his  bony  head,  thin 
nostril,  sharp,  quick-moving  ear  and  full,  fearless  eye  told 
of  many  strains  of  royal  blood  miagling  in  his  veins.  His 
faults  of  form  were  no  doubt  due  in  part  to  the  exceptional 
nutritiveness  of  that  marvelous  blue  grass  of  the  region  of 
which  he  was  a  native.     The  same  influence  had  also  trans- 


EIGHTY  NINE.  33 

formed  these  seeming  defects  into  positive  excelleucies, 
when  the  character  of  the  service  required  of  him  was 
taken  into  consideration,  as  was  afterwards  attested  by 
many  a  weary  march  and  many  a  bloody  day  which  tried 
the  mettle  and  endurance  of  horse  and  rider  to  the  utmost. 

I  suppose  this  horse  would  not  have  made  so  vivid  and 
Listing  an  impression  on  my  mind  but  for  the  circum- 
stances under  which  I  observed  him  and  the  excitinpf 
events  with  which  he  was  afterwards  so  intimately  asso- 
ciated. The  fact  that  he  had  been  selected  by  my  fathei" 
on  account  of  special  fitness  for  the  service  for  which  he 
was  designed,  of  itself  was  enough  to  endow  him  with 
peculiar  interest  in  my  eyes.  It  was  no  light  commenda- 
tion of  a  horse's  qualities  that  my  father  had  chosen  him 
for  his  own  use  at  any  time.  Even  among  our  equestrian 
people  he  was  noted,  not  merely  for  skillful  horsemanship, 
but  for  that  instinctive  love  and  ajipreciation  of  the  animal 
which  makes  a  glance  of  the  eye  worth  more  as  an  estimate 
of  quality  than  the  most  careful  scrutiny  of  one  not  so  en- 
dowed. This,  too,  Avas  in  a  sense  a  trial  trip.  The  rider 
was  becoming  ncaiainted  v/ith  the  horse,  the  owner  Avas 
testing  his  purchase,  the  master  was  verifying  his  judg- 
ment, and  I  was  watching,  almost  worshiping,  both  the  mas- 
ter Avith  his  ncAv  uniform,  the  horse  Avith  his  iicav  trappings, 
— seen  in  the  bright,  mysterious  halo  of  anticipated  glory 
illuminating  the  future  against  which  they  were  projected. 

In  the  company  of  such  a  father  and  such  a  horse  is  it 


34  EIGHTY-NINE. 

any  wonder  that  every  moment  of  that  day  and  every  inci- 
dent of  that  ride  were  photographed  indelibly  upon  my 
memory  ?  I  can  see  them  now  if  I  but  close  my  eyes.  The 
horse  with  his  long,  easy  stride,  alert,  attentive  to  the 
rider's  will,  with  his  quick  changes  of  gait  and  untiring 
readiness  ;  the  rider's  watchfulness  and  satisfaction.  But 
if  liorse  and  rider  had  been  altogether  different  I  doubt  if 
the  awkward  lad  who  rode  beside  them  would  have  felt 
3,ny  less  of  admiration.  The  lurid  light  of  the  coming 
conflict  naturally  magnified,  if,  indeed,  it  did  not  dis- 
tort all  things  seen  against  its  glow.  There  had  been  so 
little  of  the  pride  and  pomp  of  war  among  our  people,  in 
my  time  at  least,  that  soldier  and  hero  were  synonymous 
in  popular  apprehension  ;  and  he  would  have  been  a  mean- 
spirited  boy  indeed  to  whom  a  father  in  uniform  would  not 
have  seemed  almost  a  god.  At  my  earnest  solicitation  I 
was  permitted  that  day  to  give  the  horse  a  new  name  in- 
stead of  the  insignificant  one  he  had  borne  hitherto. 
Thereafter  he  was  called  "Secession." 


I  may  say  without  being  thought  to  boast,  that  my 
fatlier  was  no  ordinary  man.  That  he  should  seem 
larger  to  me  than  to  others  is  only  natural,  but  no  one  will 
question,  I  believe,  his  right  to  be  accounted  a  man  of  un- 
usual qualities. 


EIGHTY. NINE.  35 

He  had  sj^rung  from  a  rugged  farmer  stock.  The 
plantation  we  were  to  visit  was  his  sole  ancestral  inheri- 
tance. It  lay  among  the  hills  half  a  score  of  miles  from 
the  city  and  nigh  a  thousand  feet  above  it.  He  was  going 
there  to  say  farewell  to  his  mother,  an  erect,  stern-faced 
woman,  Avhose  gray  hair  was  still  abundant  and  whose 
dark  eye  and  strong  regular  features  were  yet  regal  in  their 
power  to  command.  My  father  was  her  only  son — the 
child  of  her  widowhood,  named  because  of  posthumous 
birth,  Godson — the  dream  of  her  life  and  the  pride  of  her 
age.  From  the  cabin  door  to  the  front  rank  of  his  pro- 
fession she  had  followed  him  with  unceasing  watchfulness. 
Able  to  do  but  little  for  his  advancement,  she  had  done 
very  wisely  what  she  could.  Little  given  to  flattery,  she 
had  not  been  sparing  of  censure  whenever  she  saw  him 
swerving  from  the  path  she  had  marked  out  for  him.  In 
every  crisis  of  his  life  she  had  been  ready  to  commend  reso- 
lution and  denounce  hesitancy.  As  a  boy  she  never  allowed 
his  desire  to  flag.  As  a  man  she  never  permitted  his  effort 
to  go  unrewarded  by  her  approval.  He  had  risen  stead- 
ily since  he  left  the  hearthstone.  He  was  not  rich.  His 
efforts  had  not  been  given  so  much  to  getting  wealth  as 
to  getting  strength.  Student,  teacher,  lawj^er — that  was 
the  path  this  country  boy  had  trod,  winning  each  step  by 
thoroughness  in  the  one  last  taken.  The  lust  for  gold  had 
not  yet  taken  hold  upon  our  life,  and  this  lawyer,  scarce- 
ly arrived  at  his  prime,  witlijiis  modest  plantation  just  out- 


36  EIGHTY- NINE. 

side  the  city,  a  score  of  slaves  and  his  well-stocked  library, 
was  accounted  one  of  the  most  successful  men  in  the 
state. 


*     * 


Why  was  he  leaving  all  this  to  become  a  soldier  ?  I 
remember  this  question  came  to  my  mind  as  we  rode  out 
from  under  the  shade  of  the  grove  of  oaks  that  crowned 
the  little  knob  on  which  was  our  home.  My  mother,  a 
fair-faced  Avoman,  with  a  wealth  of  golden  hair  falling 
over  a  white  morning-gown,  my  little  baby  sister  toddliiig 
by  her  side,  stood  on  the  porch  waving  us  farewell.  The 
query  haunted  my  mind  as  we  clattered  through  the  city's 
streets,  across  the  narrow  valley  and  took  the  winding 
country  road  to  Eyalmont. 

The  habit  of  self-reliance  which  his  mother  had  so 
carefully  cultivated  had  accustomed  my  father  to  think 
for  himself  on  all  subjects.  This  had  kept  him  out  of 
the  swirl  of  party  politics.  A  man  who  thinks  for  him- 
self and  does  not  hesitate  to  express  his  opinions  may 
found  a  i^arty  or  lead  one,  but  he  is  not  often  a  ser- 
viceable subaltern  in  its  ranks.  My  father  had  passed  the 
period  of  subservient  following,  and  the  time  had  but  just 
come  for  him  to  take  the  lead.  It  was  only  when  the  ques- 
tion of  peace  or  war,  or  more  exactly,  of  two  republics  or 
one,   presented  itself,  that  men  came  to  understand  his 


EIGHTY. NINE.  37 

power.  I  remember  my  own  surprise  at  the  speech  he 
made  when  the  matter  first  came  before  the  people.  It 
was  at  a  great  mass-meeting  which  has  become  memorable 
in  the  history  of  Southern  independence.  There  were 
many  eloquent  sjieakers.  The  others  touched  only  the 
surface,  he  went  to  the  core.  It  seemed  to  have  been 
the  one  thought  of  his  life.  I  was  to  leani  afterward 
how  deeply  he  had  studied  it,  how  far-reaching  were  his 
conclusions  and  how  intense  was  his  conviction. 

I  must  admit,  hoAvever,  that  my  father  was  not  what  is 
termed  a  popular  man.  His  hold  upon  the  masses,  though 
very  distinct  and  positive,  partook  very  little  of  the  char- 
acter of  a  personal  following.  It  was  the  sincerity  of 
his  purpose  and  the  earnestness  of  his  conviction,  rather 
than  his  personal  qualities,  that  gave  him  power  over  men 
— his  thought  rather  than  his  individuality.  I  have  said 
that  he  was  of  a  grave  and  serious  nature .  Another  would 
perhaps  have  called  him  taciturn.  He  lived  much  alone, 
not  that  he  wished  to  exclude  others  from  his  life,  but 
because  it  seemed  difficult  for  him  to  unbosom  himself 
to  them.  From  infancy  almost  I  had  been  the  com- 
panion of  his  daily  rides  and  was  accustomed  to  his  ab- 
stracted moods.  I  knew  he  was  fond  of  having  me  with 
him,  yet  he  conversed  but  little  with  me.  Unlike  most 
lovers  of  the  horse,  he  seldom  used  his  voice  to  govern 
or  control  the  beast  he  rode.  His  grip  would  tighten 
on  the  rein,  his  knees  clasp  the  shoulder  close,  his  jaw 


38  EIGHTY- NINE. 

grow  firm  and  his  face  become  alert  in  case  of  any  failure 
of  the  animal  to  perform  his  will,  but  no  sound  would  escape 
his  lij^s.  He  was  not  deemed  a  companionable  man. 
Though  not  without  a  sense  of  humor,  he  was  little  given 
to  jesting,  and  held  no  rank  at  all  among  the  story-tellers 
for  which  our  Southern  bar  is  so  justly  renowned.  He 
made  few  enemies,  but  those  he  had  were  as  unrelenting  as 
Imnself.  He  rarely  gave  olTonce  and  never  failed  to  resent 
insult.  As  a  result  of  these  qualities  he  was  respected  by 
all,  trusted  by  every  one,  and  comprehended  by  few. 

It  Avas  the  general  im})ression  that  the  struggle  of  his 
early  life  had  done  much  to  produce  the  reserve  which 
characterized  his  maturer  years.  What  truth  there  may 
have  been  in  this  hypothesis  I  cannot  say.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  under  the  old  regime,  when  slavery  constituted 
a  peculiar  aristocracy,  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  a  young 
man  of  the  poorer,  or  non-slaveholding,  classes,  who  aspired 
to  success  in  the  professions,  were  very  great.  Perhaps  that 
is  the  reason  there  were  so  many  notable  examples  of  that 
kind.  A  man  who  had  the  pith  to  overcome  such  diffi- 
culties at  the  outset  was  very  sure  to  make  his  mark 
afterward.  I  think  the  South  has,  among  her  great 
names,  more  instances  of  men  who  have  risen  from  the 
very  lowest  levels  of  society  to  the  highest  rank  in  poli- 
tics and  the  professions,  than  can  be  found  in  the  ap- 
parently more  democratic  and  unstratified  society  of  the 
North.      This  fact,  indeed,  constitutes  one  of  the  great. 


EIGHTY-NINE.  39 

almost  insoluble  differences  between  the  sections.  The 
great  men  of  the  South  often  founded  families,  but  very 
few,  outside  of  Virginia,  at  least,  bore  names  that  had 
been  at  all  notable  before  they  made  them  illustrious. 
Even  in  Virginia  it  remains  true  that  her  four  greatest 
names  began  and  ended  with  the  one  man  Avho  made  each 
immortal.  Washington,  Jefferson,  Marshall  and  "Stone- 
wall '•*  Jackson  are  unquestionably  the  first  names,  even  of 
the  boastful  "Mother  of  Presidents,"  and  the  most  illustri- 
ous men  the  South  has  ever  produced.  Each  sjarang  from 
obscurity,  and  with  the  death  of  each  the  name  he  bore 
lapsed  into  insignificance. 

Another  of  the  seemingly  inscrutable  things  connected 
with  our  Southern  life  is  the  fact  that  these  very  men  have 
been  the  most  uncompromising  advocates  of  that  peculiar 
state  of  society  which  would  seem  to  have  placed  almost 
insuperable  obstacles  in  their  path.  I  have  heard  others 
relate  what  my  father  had  to  meet  and  overcome.  From 
his  lips  I  scarcely  heard  a  word  upon  the  subject,  but  I 
know  that  he  attributed  his  success  mainly  to  the  training 
he  received  in  overcoming  these  difficulties.  He  believed 
our  Southern  life  and  society  to  be  not  only  distinctive  but 
eminently  healthful.  He  recognized  with  peculiar  clear- 
ness its  defects,  but  thought  them  quite  overshadowed  by 
its  excellencies.  Boy  as  I  was,  I  could  not  help  thinking 
of  these  things  and  feeling  especial  pride  in  a  father  who 
by  sheer  force  of  manhood  had  won  his  way  from  the  hum- 


40  EIOHTT-NINE. 

blest  station  to  be  a  leader  of  the  very  life  that  had  thrown 
such  obstacles  in  his  pathway. 

But  while  I  exulted  I  still  wondered. 


CHAPTER  V. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day  in  May.  Leaving  the  town 
we  crossed  the  bridge  over  the  sparkling  river  and  skirted 
the  cornfields  on  the  bottom  at  a  swinging  pace.  For  a 
time  my  father  was  engaged  in  watching  the  performance 
of  his  horse,  now  putting  him  at  some  obstacle,  and  then 
requiring  him  to  change  his  gait  upon  a  given  signal ; 
guiding  him  sometimes  with  his  hand  and  then  with  his 
knee  ;  dropping  the  reins  upon  his  neck,  bending  downward 
from  his  saddle — in  short,  submitting  him  to  all  those  tests 
the  practiced  horseman  applies  to  anew  purchase  which  he 
backs  for  the  first  time  beyond  the  range  of  prying  eyes. 
When  at  length  we  struck  into  the  shady  woods-road  that 
winds  up  the  sharp  slope  to  Eyalmont  he  halted  for  me  to 
overtake  him,  the  last  half  mile  having  been  made  at  a  speed 
quite  beyond  the  capacity  of  the  mare  I  rode,  which,  though 
a  thoroughbred,  had  seen  too  many  days  to  be  matched  with 
such  a  horse  in  his  prime.  My  father  had  tlirown  a  leg 
over  the  saddle-bow  and  was  sitting  sidewise  upon  his  horse, 
which  showed  no  signs  of  fatigue  or  excitement  Avhen  T  came 
up.  It  was  a  favorite  position  with  him  and  was  always  in- 
dicative of  satisfaction.  It  is  said  that  the  soldiers  under 
his  command  used  afterwards  to  declare  tliat  they  knew 

41 


42  EIGHTY-NINE. 

the  battle  was  going  well  when  they  saw  him  sitting  side- 
wise  in  his  saddle. 

"  He  will  do,"  said  my  father,  grasping  a  handful  of 
the  horse's  mane  and  giving  it  an  approving  jerk.  With- 
out change  in  his  position  we  rode  on,  walking  our  horses 
under  the  over-arching  trees.  As  if  divining  what  had  been 
my  thought,  my  father  began  to  sj)eak  of  the  new  move- 
ment and  his  own  relations  to  it.  It  seemed  as  if  he  were 
anxious  to  commit  his  thoughts  to  the  keeping  of  another, 
and  found  in  me  the  only  convenient  receptacle.  Aside 
from  their  peculiar  character,  what  I  witnessed  that  day 
would  have  sufficed  to  fix  his  words  indelibly  upon  my 
memory. 

What  especially  impressed  me  at  the  time  was  the  dif- 
ference between  his  ideas  and  the  views  usually  attributed 
to  those  Avith  whom  he  acted.  He  seemed  to  think 
slavery  an  accident  :  an  opportunity  rather  than  a  cause. 
Towards  the  North  he  appeared  to  entertain  no  rancor  and, 
indeed,  was  somewhat  bitter  in  his  allusions  to  those  who 
fomented  hate.  He  said  it  was  not  a  conflict  of  passion  or 
the  result  of  oppression,  but  a  movement  of  necessity. 
Civilization,  he  said,  had  generated  in  this  country  two 
distinct  and  contrasted  yet  similar  and  related  types. 
They  had  long  been  growing  assunder  and  now  the  time 
had  come  when  they  must  fall  apart.  He  said  the  real 
question  at  issue  was  not  what  the  constitution  meant  or 
the  fathers  intended  ;  but  what  the  future  demanded.     I 


EIGHTY-NINE.  43 

had  heard  the  constitutional  question  discussed  so  often 
that  I  was  startled,  boy  as  I  was,  to  hear  him  declare  it 
immaterial.  He,  no  doubt,  noted  my  look  of  surprise  and 
explained  that  the  time  had  passed  when  the  fathers  were 
entitled  of  right  to  bind  the  sous  forever.  "  Our  law,"  he 
said,  "  had  Avisely  restricted  the  power  of  bequest  to  two 
lives,  and  the  course  of  legislation  and  Jurisprudence  was 
toward  a  still  further  limitation  of  posthumous  restraint. 
Private  contracts  were  declared  inviolable  by  the  States, 
but  the  general  government  has  undoubted  authority  to 
abrogate  them  in  certain  cases.  Tlie  doctrine  of  this  im- 
mutability of  the  social,  the  political  contract  was  of 
feudal  and  monarchical  origin.  Allegiance,  the  tie  which 
bound  the  subject  to  the  throne — which  attached  the  indi- 
vidual to  the  sovereign — was  considered  indissoluble  ex- 
cept by  treaty  stipulation  until  American  democracy  es- 
tablished it  as  a  doctrine  of  international  law  that  the  in- 
dividual might  disown  the  sovereignty  of  birth  and  at- 
tach himself  to  another  in  the  domain  of  which  he  may 
reside,  which  disavowal  shall  remain,  and  new  allegiance 
shall  attach,  for  the  benefit  of  the  individual  and  of  the 
State,  thereafter,  without  regard  to  the  place  of  domicile. 
"All  these  things,"  said  he,  "^'tend  in  one  direction. 
In  spite  of  any  constitutional  provision  or  requirement,  a 
people  have  the  right  not  merely  to  choose  their  own  form 
of  government,  but  to  determine  its  quality,  character, 
constituents  and  alliances.     The  one  million  of  freemen 


44  EIG  HIT-NINE. 

who  constituted  the  peoj)le  of  the  South  eighty  years  ago — 
the  ancestors  by  three  removes  of  the  men  to-day — had  no 
right  to  bind  at  will  the  eight  millions  of  freemen  who  now 
occu25y  her  soil  and  their  descendants  forever. 

''The  war  for  American  Independence  was  based  upon 
a  right  inhering  in  every  people  to  separate  themselves 
from  another  on  the  ground  of  injustice  and  oppression. 
This  has  come  to  be  known  in  international  law  as  the 
right  of  revolution.  It  consists  of  two  elements  :  the 
right  to  resist  oppression  and  the  right  to  determine  what 
constitutes  oppression.  Our  peoi)le  do  themselves  and  our 
Northern  neighbors,  both,  great  wrong  to  put  their  de- 
fence, or  justification  rather,  on  this  ground.  It  is  not 
true,  my  son,  that  we  have  suffered  any  such  wrongs  at  the 
hands  of  the  Northern  people  or  the  government  of  the 
United  States  as  would  justify  revolution.  It  may  be 
doubted  if  we  have  suffered  any  at  all.  The  right  to  wit  li- 
draw  from  the  Union  was  not  specifically  reserved  in  the 
Constitution.  That  is  certain.  And  it  is  at  least  doubtful 
whether  it  was  intended  and  understood  by  any  consider- 
able portion  of  those  concerned  in  the  consolidation  of  the 
independent  States  into  a  distinct  nationality,  to  have  been 
so  reserved  inferentially.  Our  cause  rests  upon  higher, 
stronger  and  holier  grounds.  What  we  allege  is  not  op- 
pression but  incompatibility.  We  say  that  these  two  peo- 
ples can  never  be  one.  In  name  they  may  be  united  ;  in 
nature  they  must  continue  diverse.     Every  hour  since  they 


EIGHTY-  NINE.  45 

were  thought  to  have  become  more  closely  joined  they  have 
in  si^irit  grown  essentially  more  remote.  The  'more 
perfect  union/  which  our  fathers  thought  they  were  creat- 
ing by  the  Constitution,  has  only  given  shelter  to  divergent 
gi"0^vths  which  are  now  much  farther  apart  than  they  were 
on  that  day.  Events  which  none  foresaw  have  made  the 
united  nation  distinctly  dual. 

"Our  contention,  properly  stated,  is  that  eight  mil- 
lions of  freemen,  occupying  a  distinct  territory,  have  an  in- 
herent right  at  any  time  to  choose  their  own  form  of 
government  and  their  own  j^olitical  affiliations — not  be- 
cause of  any  constitutional  provision,  nor  on  account  of 
any  actual  or  supposed  historical  relation  they  once  sus- 
tained to  each  other,  but  because  they  are  a  distinct 
people  and  substantially  agreed  upon  this  subject. 

*'So,  too,  the  people  of  the  Xorth — they  call  them- 
selves now  the  Xation,  and  have  the  right  to  use  its  name 
and  organization,  though  the  nationality  is  really  destroyed 
by  the  secession  of  the  Southern  States — they  have,  I  say, 
an  indefeasible  and  indubitable  right  to  prevent  our  leav- 
ing the  Union,  if  they  can.  Our  action  is  not  rebellion 
nor  is  theirs  subjugation.  We  simply  assert  that,  in  our 
opinion,  the  interests  of  the  South  demand  a  separate  gov- 
ernment. They  declare  their  conviction  that  the  interest 
of  the  North,  and  in  their  view,  of  the  whole  nation,  de- 
mand the  continuance  of  the  present  relations.     So  far  as 


46  EIGHTY-NINE. 

they  are  concerned  it  is  a  question  of  policy.  With  us  it  a 
matter  of  right  as  well. 

''Both  are  unquestionably  correct  in  their  conclusions 
of  fact.  The  South  would  be  immensely  benefitted  by 
political  autonomy.  The  North  would,  in  almost  like  de- 
gree, be  injured  financially  by  the  sejiaration.  The  South 
abounds  in  products  of  universal  demand — cotton,  to- 
bacco, lumber,  ores.  We  have  immense  undeveloped  re- 
sources. Our  territory  yields  almost  everything  re- 
quired for  human  comfort  and  civilized  existence.  Of 
minerals,  we  have  coal  and  iron  in  abundance ;  gold,  silver 
and  copper  in  considerable  quantities  ;  corn,  wheat,  oats, 
hay  and  cattle  enough  to  supply  our  need  and  give  a  sur- 
plus for  export;  wool,  sugar  and  rice  enough  for  ourselves, 
with  an  excess  of  two  of  them  when  developed ;  cotton 
and  tobacco  enough  to  supply  one-third  of  the  world's 
demand  above  our  own  consumption.  Besides  this, 
lumber  and  fruits ;  and,  in  addition  to  it  all,  the  finest 
water-power  in  the  world.  In  our  State  alone  the  avail- 
able force  of  the  Avater,  which  now  runs  unhindered  to  the 
sea,  equals  the  entire  mill-power  of  New  England.  Separ- 
ation means  to  us  develojoment.  It  means  self-support, 
extension  and  variety  of  industrial  fabric.  W^e  should  spin 
our  own  cotton,  raise  our  own  corn  and  wear  our  own 
clothes.  The  world's  capital  and  energy  would  flow  to  our 
shores  simply  because  we  offered  the  largest  opportunity. 

*'To  the  North  it  means  distinct  and  positive  loss. 


EIGHTY-NINE.  47 

We  are,  under  existing  conditions,  an  ever  open  market 
for  their  wares  and  products.  We  buy  their  coal,  their 
iron,  their  clothing.  Aside  from  what  is  consumed  at 
home,  we  constitute  their  only  considerable  market  except 
for  food  products.  With  free  and  aspiring  labor  they  can- 
not compete  with  the  dependent  and  controllable  labor  of 
the  Old  World  in  open  market.  Circumstances  have  given 
them  a  market  here  at  the  South  in  which  they  can  have 
no  competition  even  from  ourselves. 

'•'They  will  fight  for  this,  my  son,  fight  to  retain  their 
profit  and  advantage.  They  have  a  right  to  do  so.  They 
will  have  the  sympathies  of  the  world  with  them  too. 
They  not  only  fight  for  a  universally  accepted  theory — the 
right  to  compel  allegiance — but  an  incident  of  the  struggle, 
which  some  of  our  people  are  foolishly  seeking  to  make  its 
chief  feature,  will  give  them  a  sympathy  they  only  half  de- 
serve. It  will  be  said  that  they  fight  to  free  the  slave  and 
we  fight  to  keep  him  still  in  bondage.  In  one  sense  it  will 
be  true,  in  another  false.  Slavery  is  an  occasion  rather 
than  a  cause  of  the  conflict  that  impends.  It,  no  doubt, 
did  much  to  produce  divergence  of  life  and  civilization, 
but  its  extirpation  would  not  produce  unity  or  homogen- 
iety.  There  will  be  war  because  there  are  two  peoples. 
However  it  may  end,  there  will  be  two  peoples  still. 

''Remember  these  things,  my  son,"  said  my  father,  as 
we  reached  the  crest  of  a  hill  from  which  the  old  home- 
place  could  be  seen,  "remember  them  as  your  father's 


48  EIGHTY- NINE. 

views  of  the  great  questions  which  confront  the  present.  I 
have  given  them  my  best  thought  and  shall  give  to  what 
I  deem  the  right  my  best  endeavor.  I  may  not  live  to  see 
the  end.  Upon  you  or  your  children,  in  all  probability, 
will  fall  the  final  determination  of  these  questions.  Many 
of  our  people  look  for  victory.  1  do  not.  Wc  are  eight 
millions  of  freemen  against  nineteen  millions.  We  must 
establish  a  government  as  well  as  defeat  an  enemy.  Our 
mechanical  resources  are  undeveloped  ;  theirs  are  the  com- 
pletest  ever  known.  We  have  all  things  to  create  ;  they 
have  more  than  enough  of  everything  needful.  The  war 
will  be  long  because  we  are  two  great  peoples.  It  will  be 
bloody  because  we  are  brave  and  come  of  a  stock  of  un- 
rivalled fortitude. 

''I  think  we  shall  be  defeated.  I  cannot  see  how  it 
can  be  otherwise.  But  that  will  not  be  the  end,  my  son. 
The  underlying  principles  and  the  essential  facts  will  re- 
main. The  South  will  still  remain  the  South  and  the 
Xorth  Avill  be  the  North  still.  The  South  will  invite  cap- 
ital and  show  gTcat  progress.  It  will  grow  stronger  to 
achieve,  but  must  still  remain  essentially  distinct.  The 
slave  may  be  freed,  but  the  negro  will  remain.  The  North 
cannot  assimilate  us,  and  the  South  has  no  tendency  towards 
the  j)eculiar  Northern  civilization.  The  two  peoples  will 
naturally  gravitate  farther  and  farther  apart.  This  will 
grow  stronger  to  assert  because  of  its  essential  solidarity ; 
that  will  o-row  weaker  to  resist  because  of  its  discordant 


EIGHTY-NINE.  49 

elements.  Some  time  the  issue  will  have  to  be  tried 
over  again.  If  it  should  be  in  your  day,  it  may  help  you 
to  do  your  duty  to  know  what  was  your  father's  convic- 
tion," 

He  swung  himself  back  into  the  saddle,  and  we  struck 
a  quicker  j)ace  as  he  ceased  sjDeakiug.  A  soft  breeze  came 
down  the  valley  we  had  entered  and  the  scent  of  the  wild 
grape  blossoms,  which  hung  in  feathery  clusters  over  the 
shaded  road,  came  to  our  nostrils.  The  bees  filled  the 
air  with  their  droning  and  the  birds  famished  that  varied 
accompaniment  which  one  Avho  is  busy  with  his  thoughts 
seldom  notes  yet  never  forgets.  I  remember  the  croon  of 
the  rain  crow,  the  far-away  song  of  the  thrush,  the  clamor 
of  the  mocker  and  the  jeer  of  the  cat-bird,  as  we  dashed  on 
beneath  the  leafy  canopy  that  hung  above  the  mountain 
road.  As  we  drcAv  near  the  home-place,  my  father  seemed 
restive  and  uneasy.  He  talked  of  many  things,  but  chiefly 
of  his  childhood — always  coming  back  to  that  at  last — 
and  in  a  manner  more  rambling  and  disconnected  than 
I  had  ever  known  him  to  display.  I  thought  him  agitated 
at  the  idea  of  parting  from  his  mother.  It  occurred  to  me 
then  that  he  had  worn  his  uniform  in  order  that  she  might 
remember  him  as  he  would  look  while  with  the  army.  It 
seemed  very  kind  of  him  to  do  so,  and  I  spoke  of  it  as  a 
very  considerate  act.  My  father  started  as  if  my  words  had 
been  a  sting.     His  lip  quivered  and  his  cheek  flushed. 


50  EIGHTY-NINE. 

"Ah,  yes/'  he  said,  with  something  like  a  sneer,  ''It 
was  kind — very  kind." 

I  was  astonished.  We  rode  forward  a  while  in  silence, 
then  he  said  gently  ; 

"No,  my  son,  I  did  not  wear  this  uniform  to  give 
your  grandmother  pleasure,  but  to  show  her  that  I  am  a 
man." 

An  instant  after  he  added  still  more  softly  : 

"I  brought  you  also  to  bear  witness  to  that  fact/' 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Ryalmont  had  been  the  family  seat  of  the  Owens  for 
generations.  It  was  named  from  Royal  Owen — pronounced 
Ryal  by  the  country  people — who  located  the  tract  and  ob- 
tained a  grant  for  it  long  before  the  parchment  title  was  of 
any  value  unless  backed  by  a  stout  heart  and  a  keen  eye. 
It  was  at  first  called  Ryal's  Mount,  My  father  linked  the 
two  and  christened  it  Ryalmont. 

It  was  a  sightly  place  which  the  sturdy  hunter  chose 
for  his  abode.  A  level  table  shot  out  from  the  mountain 
side  as  if  the  summit  of  an  outlying  spur  had  been  cut 
sheer  off.  leaving  the  truncated  base  buttressed  against 
sharp  cliffs  on  either  hand,  while  back  of  it  stretched  a 
narrow  and  difficult  pass — a  mere  notch  in  the  mountain 
wall  through  which  fell  a  babbling  stream.  The  torrent 
turned  sharp  to  the  northward  where  it  issued  from  the 
gorge,  leaving  the  knob  on  which  the  house  stood,  effectu- 
ally to  mask  the  entrance,  and  after  a  long  detour,  swept 
back  again  to  its  very  foot  upon  the  eastward,  and  worked  its 
way  thence  through  the  lower  hills  to  the  river  half  a  dozen 
miles  away.  By  its  side  ran  the  highway  along  which  we 
had  come,  winding  around  the  hill  a  hundred  yards  from 
the  house  and  perhaps  twice  as  many  feet  below  it.  A 
spring  burst  out,  half  way  down  the  hillside,  aind  ran  through 

51 


52  EIGHTY. NINE. 

a  drijjping  wooden  spouf  to  a  trough  at  the  roadside.  Nest- 
ling under  the  side  of  the  hill,  by  which  it  was  hidden  from 
the  house  above,  was  a  snug  little  cabin  in  which  dwelt 
Jack,  the  colored  overseer  and  care-taker  of  the  plantation. 
It  was  said  that  our  ancestor  chose  this  location  for 
the  heavy  log  house  which  he  erected,  not  on  account  of  its 
relation  to  the  thousand  acres  of  hill  and  valley,  mountain 
and  meadow,  it  overlooked — to  which  he  laid  claim  as  first 
settler  and  for  which  he  paid  the  extravagant  price  of  one 
shilling  an  acre — but  because  of  its  outhjok  over  the  valley 
and  the  easy  access  it  offered  to  the  wooded  glen  in  the 
rear,  known  afterwards  as  Ryal's  Pass.  In  those  days,  it 
was  said  that  every  trail  that  crossed  the  valley  passed  some- 
where within  sight  of  Ryal's  Mount,  and  that  any  one  who 
entered  Ryal's  Pass  a  half  hour  in  advance  of  his  pursuer, 
was  safe  from  the  most  hostile  following.  The  Pass  was  a 
narrow  defile  that  wound  in  and  out  a  devious  but  not  dif- 
ficult way,  until  it  ended  in  a  dark  and  narrow  glen  on  the 
other  side  of  the  mountain  half  a  dozen  miles  away.  Because 
of  its  tortuous  character  it  had  never  been  used  as  a  high- 
way, and  was  still  almost  as  wild  as  when  Ryal  Owen  made 
it  a  place  of  refuge  from  the  savage  foe.  A  bridle  path  led 
into  it,  and  once  or  twice  my  father  had  taken  me  through 
its  mazes  to  the  peaceful  valley  beyond.  Its  outlet  was  a 
narrow  and  forbidding  canon  almost  beneath  the  frowning 
heights  of  a  now  celebrated  peak,  on  the  other  side  of 
which    runs    the    great   thoroughfare   it  seems   especially 


EI0HTY-NIN£!.  63 

designed  to  guard.  My  namesake's  judgment  of  the 
strategic  value  of  the  Pass  has  received  in  recent  times 
marked  contirmation.  During  the  War  for  Separation 
the  enemy,  who  tried  in  vain  to  force  the  pillared  gate,  came 
in  with  ease  by  this  unguarded  stile.  Though  its  walls 
were  precipitous  at  either  end  and  the  way  narrow  and  cir- 
cuitous, the  grades  were  easy  near  the  summit,  and  there 
were  some  open  glades  where  the  deer  loved  to  lie  in  the 
sunshine.  Rut  it  nowhere  sjiread  out  into  valleys  and  had 
no  branches  that  led  to  such.  Because  of  this  the  trail, 
though  passable,  was  so  little  used  that  few  people  knew 
of  its  existence.  It  was  a  favorite  haunt  of  my  boyhood, 
and  Jack,  who  was  fond  of  wandering  in  the  mountains, 
knew  every  foot  of  the  way. 

The  plantation  had  changed  but  little  from  Eyal 
Owen's  day  until  my  father's  time.  The  freedom  of 
estimate  that  characterized  the  early  surveys  had  left 
abundant  room  for  the  shrinkage  caused  by  providing 
homes  for  the  few  female  branches  which  had  adorned  the 
family  tree,  and  the  landmarks  by  which  it  was  defined 
were  too  notable  to  permit  the  squatter  to  plead  igno- 
rance of  its  limits.  Perhaps  my  father  would  have  left  it 
very  much  as  he  found  it,  if  accident  had  not  joined  with 
inclination  to  effect  its  transformation.  Though  his  tastes 
were  rural,  he  was  not  an  agriculturist.  The  tillage  of  the 
soil  for  gain  had  no  charms  for  him.  Trees  and  fruits  he 
loved.     Flowers,  especially  those  hardy  sorts  that  win  and 


54  EIGHTY  NINE. 

hold  their  own  place  in  nature,  asking  no  aid  from  man, 
except  to  plant  the  seed  or  set  the  root,  suited  his  taste  and 
pleased  his  eye.  For  formal  gardens,  close-clipped  hedges 
and  carefully  tended  borders,  he  had  little  fancy.  Roses 
that  could  fight  with  brambles,  shrubs  that  held  the  soil 
against  all  comers,  it  mattered  not  how  savage,  and  vines 
that  found  the  sunlight,  no  matter  how  high  they  might 
have  to  climb  or  how  dense  the  shadow  they  might  have  to 
penetrate — these  were  his  favorites.  Eyalmont  stood  on  one 
of  those  curiously  irregular  isothermal  lines  which  wind 
along  our  mountain  sides,  where  the  frost  never  kills  and 
the  heat  never  blights.  Instead  of  cotton,  therefore,  he 
planted  trees,  and  if  his  crops  were  seldom  good,  his  fruit 
was  soon  the  envy  of  the  whole  country. 

He  married  the  daughter  of  a  prosperous  planter  on 
the  Oconee,  who  brought  to  the  humble  mountain  home 
as  part  of  her  dowry,  a  few  families  of  slaves.  Two  of  these 
left  their  mark  on  Ryalmont,  One  of  them  was  known 
as  Christopher.  Physically,  the  line  that  separated  him 
from  the  white  race  was  imperceptible  even  to  the  most 
practiced  eye.  He  was  supposed  to  have  been  very  closely 
related  to  the  thrifty  planter  whose  daughter  he  served, 
and  I  have  frequently  heard  my  mother  refer  to  him  as 
exhibiting  the  characteristic  traits  of  the  family.  This 
man  had  the  inherent  capacity  for  management  which  so 
often  appears  in  the  mixed  bloods  of  the  plantation.  To 
him  the  cultivation  of   the  earth  was  simi)ly  a  means  of 


EIGHTY. NINE.  55 

profit.  The  instinct  of  accretion  was  so  strong  in  his  na- 
ture that  the  act  of  heaping  up,  even  for  another's  enjoy- 
ment, was  a  pleasure  to  him.  As  fate  had  denied  liim 
the  right  to  acquire  for  himself,  he  sought  happiness  in 
accumulating  for  those  he  served  ;  and  served  all  the  more 
faithfully,  let  me  say,  because  he  saw  that  they  wore  the 
same  fetters  as  himself,  being  bound  by  like  inexorable  con- 
ditions— that  the  lives  of  both  were  controlled  by  an  inevi- 
table destiny.  To  this  man  was  due  the  improvement  of 
Kyalmont  as  an  estate.  He  cut  off  the  rich,  narrow  bot- 
toms ;  cleared  the  best  of  the  hillsides ;  built  fences  and 
cabins,  transforming  tlie  great  Avooded  tract  into  half  a  score 
of  little  farms,  each  yielding  enough  for  its  occupant  and 
some  surplus  for  the  master.  Such  a  style  of  agriculture, 
however,  was  not  suited  to  the  genius  of  slavery,  and  Chris- 
topher was  not  content  until  the  Grove  was  purchased, 
where  his  instinct  for  administration  had  fuller  play.  For 
this  negro  my  father  had  a  great  esteem,  but  the  favorite 
among  my  mother's  slaves  was  Jack. 

The  house  at  Ryalmont  was  the  one  blot  upon  its  pic- 
turesque beauty.  It  was  undeniably  uncouth  and  alto- 
gether unfit  to  be  the  residence  of  the  prosperous  lawyer 
and  his  fair  young  bride.  The  trees  held  it  in  their  shel- 
tering embrace  ;  the  vines  clambered  over  its  rude  porches 
and  hid  the  great  stone  chimneys  outside  the  gables  ;  apples 
and  acorns  fell  upon  its  moss-grown  shingle  roof,  raced  with 
each  other  down  the  sharp  declivity  and  lodged  in  little 


56  EIGHTY.yiyE. 

leaf-lined  eddies  on  the  hill-side  below  ;  Taut  however  ro- 
mantic its  environment,  the  house  was  made  of  logs  and  the 
chinking,  which  the  ceiling  hid  within,  still  showed  from 
without.  It  was  rude,  inconvenient,  and  none  too  spacious 
for  the  requirements  of  the  new  household.  The  slaves 
who  came  to  the  up-country  with  the  bride,  regarded  it 
with  contempt,  and  talked  with  curious  pride  of  the  glories 
of  the  mansion  on  the  live-oak  hummock  in  the  midst  of 
"  Ole  Mahster's"  broad  plantation.  This  fired  the  mother's 
pride  and  her  wrath  burned  hot  against  the  dark-skinned 
intruders.  The  young  wife  grieved  silently,  yet  the  fact 
soon  became  apparent  that  the  house  at  Kyalmont  must  be 
remodeled,  a  new  one  built,  or  the  household  divided.  .  My 
father  could  not  bring  himself  to  tear  it  down  ;  as  yet  he 
shrank  from  leaving  the  ancestral  hearth  ;  and  to  adjoin 
the  glaring  new  to  the  somber  old  seemed  to  him  an  incon- 
gruity which  he  could  by  no  means  permit. 

The  solution  was  found  in  Jack.  Through  his  co- 
operation Eyalmont  was  re-formed  and  transformed  without 
losing  any  of  its  essential  characteristics.  Jack  was  one  of 
those  strange  freaks  of  slavery  Avhich  sometimes  startled 
by  a  sudden  revelation  of  its  injustice  those  who  were  the 
most  deeply  convinced  of  its  necessity.  He  was  a  man 
hardly  above  the  average  height,  but  so  slenderly  formed 
as  to  produce  the  impression  that  he  was  unusually  tall.  A 
long  neck,  narrow  sloping  shoulders,  and  a  pinched  face 
with  retreating  chin  and  overhanging  brows,  increased  this 


EIGHTY-  NINE .  57 

illusion.  His  skiu  was  dark  ;  not  the  jetty  blackness  of  the 
pure-blooded  African,  but  an  intense  velvety  brown  which 
seemed  to  have  been  cast  in  subtle  mockery  as  a  mask  for 
the  purely  Caucasian  features  and  unmistakable  Anglo- 
American  figure.  Despite  his  apparent  delicacy  of  form  he 
possessed  great  strength  and  peculiar  dexterity  of  hand. 
He  was  something  more  than  a  Jack-of -all-trades,  doing  well 
whatever  was  needed  on  the  plantation.  Xot  only  was  his 
hand  skillful  with  all  kinds  of  tools,  but  his  eye  was  accurate 
and  his  invention  ready.  The  fate  that  made  him  a 
slave  was  harsh  and  terrible.  There  was  a  rumor  that 
he  could  not  only  read,  but  was  better  informed  as  to 
some  of  the  arts  he  practiced,  than  many  of  the  white 
craftsmen  of  the  region.  To  him  was  due  the  suggestion 
that  made  Eyalmont,  for  a  time  at  least,  unique  among  the 
homes  of  the  State.  I  had  often  heard  the  story,  and  it 
came  to  my  mind  with  peculiar  vividness  that  day  because 
of  the  events  that  were  crowding  upon  us.  I  remember 
wondering,  after  we  came  in  sight  of  the  house,  what  would 
be  Jack's  view  of  the  matter  my  father  had  discussed  ujion 
the  way. 

A  drawing  carefully  made  upon  a  pine  board  lying  on 
Jack's  work-bench  gave  the  first  hint  of  a  transforma- 
tion so  notable  that  even  the  hand  of  war  spared  its  beauty. 
The  means  were  simple.  The  log  house  remained,  only 
the  roof  was  modernized,  the  pitch  increased  and  its  eaves 
made  to  project  farther.     The  walls  Avere  covered  close  with 


58  EIGHTY -NINE. 

small  sticks,  cut  in  midsummer  so  as  to  dry  with  the  bark 
on  and  sawed  evenly  through  the  middle.  These  were  ar- 
ranged in  artistic  forms  and  gave  a  simple  finish  in  perfect 
harmony  with  the  quaint  interior  and  rustic  surroundings. 
Jack  had  never  been  in  Switzerland  or  Norway,  but  his 
work  was  inferior  neither  in  stability  jior  artistic  quality  to 
the  best  that  either  can  produce. 

So  well  pleased  was  my  father  with  the  idea,  that  an 
extension  was  built  upon  the  plan  of  the  original  structure  ; 
only,  instead  of  hewn  logs,  carefully  sawed  timbers  were 
laid  edge  to  edge,  matched  accurate^  with  the  saw,  lined 
with  the  choicest  of  pine  hearts,  fitted  with  precision,  and 
finished  on  the  outside  by  the  same  system  of  riven  saplings. 
So  the  house  at  Ryalmont  became  a  curious  compound  of 
the  chalet,  the  cabin  and  the  planter's  spacious  home,  of 
which  a  slave  was  the  real  architect. 

Since  our  removal  to  the  Grove  my  grandmother  lived 
here  alone  but  for  a  "hireling'' — a  white  woman,  who  was 
half  companion  and  half  servant.  Jack's  wife,  Vicey,  was 
the  cook.  I  think  she  kept  both  these  slaves  less  for  her 
own  convenience  than  for  their  pleasure.  They  were  by 
no  means  unnecessary,  however.  The  Owens  were  always 
hospitable  and  my  grandmother  was  a  uotable  housewife. 
So  Ryalmont  had  open  doors  and  a  well-laden  board  where 
rich  and  poor  met  on  terms  of  equality  rarely  found  except 
in  "up-country"  southern  homes. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  day  was  well  advanced  when  we  arrived  at  the 
old  homestead.  Hidden  away  beneath  the  trees,  the 
house  was  hardly  visible  from  the  road.  A  narrow  path, 
bordered  on  each  side  by  a  ribbon  of  white  quartz  pebbles, 
ran  around  the  hillside  in  and  out  among  the  shrubbery 
from  the  rustic  gate  up  to  the  worn  granite  slab  that  Ryal 
Owen  made  the  doorstep  of  his  house.  The  hill  was  liter- 
ally embowered  with  verdure.  Orchard  and  grove  com- 
mingled on  the  summit.  Flowers  and  vines  ran  riot  on 
the  slope.  The  fertile  soil  and  balmy  climate  had  done 
more  than  man  for  its  adornment.  Nature  had  not  only 
supplemented  but  in  many  cases  suj^planted  and  im- 
proved on  art.  The  ivy  fought  with  the  honeysuckle  for 
foothold  on  wall  and  tree.  Wisterias  interlocked  with 
climbing  roses  in  a  deadly  grapple  around  many  a  rugged 
trunk.  The  grapevines  that  grew  along  the  pathway  were 
in  bloom,  freighting  the  air  with  fragrance.  A  lusty  her- 
bemont  had  somehow  managed  to  throw  a  tendril  into  an 
apple  tree  that  stood  above  the  spring,  and  from  this  had 
swung  over  into  a  giant  oak,  which  shaded  the  eastern  end 
of  the  house.  Along  this  aerial  bridge  a  huge  wisteria  had 
followed  in  swift  pursuit.  Its  soft  wavy  foliage  and  rich 
purple  blossoms  formed  a  royal  arch  beneath  which  one 
59 


GO  EIGHTY.  NINE 

must  pass  to  enter  the  cottage.  To  the  right  of  the  path 
was  a  dark  cedar  out  of  the  branches  of  wliich  a  cat-bird 
screamed  with  angry  surprise  at  our  intrusion,  while  he 
hopped  from  branch  to  branch,  eyeing  us  with  character- 
istic audacity  as  we  niaproached.  The  little  white  May- 
apples  were  already  ripening  and  lay  along  the  path,  fallen 
from  a  tree  that  stood  near  the  top  of  the  slope.  My  father 
climbed  the  path,  apparently  heedless  of  all  these  things  ;  I 
followed,  noting  them  with  boyish  interest.  The  summer 
sun  beat  fiercely  down.  There  was  a  drowsy  hum,  a  sort 
of  audible  silence  in  the  air.  The  bees  were  droning  lazily 
about,  and  the  birds  flew  silently  by  as  if  the  effort  of  song 
were  too  much  for  them  to  undertake. 

My  grandmother  sat  upon  the  porch  Just  within  the 
line  of  shade  made  by  the  vines  that  clambered  up  the 
front.  Her  knitting  had  fallen  to  the  floor,  and  her  hands 
were  clasped  upon  a  book  in  her  lap.  She  watched  us  as 
we  approached,  but  without  a  hint  of  recognition. 

'•  How  d'ye.  Ma  I  "  said  my  father,  as  his  foot  touched 
the  stepping  stone  before  the  door.  M}  grandmother 
started  as  from  a  dream. 

"Is  that  3' on.  Godson  ?  I  seed  ye  comin' up  the  path, 
but  couldn't  make  ye  out,  no  more'n  ef  I'd  never  known 
ye.  Must  be  my  sight's  a  failiu'.  I  don't  more'n  half 
know  ye  now.  What  in  the  name  of  sense  liev  ye  got  on, 
anyhow  ?" 

She  scanned  him  from  top  to  toe. 


EIGHTY.  NINE.  61 

••  No  wonder  I  didn't  know  ye.  Do  tell  a  body  what 
ye"ie  masqneradin'  'round  in  sech  a  rig  ez  that  fer,  son  ?" 

"  This  is  my  uniform,  mother,"  my  father  replied,  a 
hot  flush  rising  to  his  brow. 

"  Uniform  ?  What  sort  of  a  uniform,  child  ?  You 
hain't  turned  play  acter  at  your  age,  hev  ye  ?" 

"  No,  mother,"  he  answered.  "  this  is  serious  earnest. 
This  is  my  uniform  as  a  Confederate  officer." 

"  Your  what  I  Oh  Godson,  Godson  I  Ye  don't  mean 
to  say  you've  gone  an'  jined  yourself  body  an'  soul  to  that 
cussed  idol  ?  You  are  not  gwine  to  fight  agin'  the  Union 
an'  spill  innocent  blood  in  sech  a  cause  ?" 

She  clasped  her  hands  tightly,  and  her  face  shone  with 
woefulness  as  she  waited  for  an  answer. 

"  I  have  done  as  my  conscience  dictated,  mother,"  my 
father  answered  solemnly. 

He  still  stood  upon  the  broad  granite  stone  that  had 
been  placed  before  the  porch  by  his  grandfather  when  the 
house  was  built,  more  than  a  hundred  years  before.  Per- 
haps she  thought  of  this,  as  she  said  in  tones  that  had  lost 
the  huskiness  of  age  and  sounded  tense  and  clear  : 

"Do  ye  remember.  Godson,  that  yer  grandfayther 
fought  an'  bled  fer  the  country  you're  gwine  ter  far  up  ? 

"He  fought  for  his  country  and  people,  and  I  must 
fight  for  mine,"  he  replied. 

"An'  you  stand  on  the  rock  he  placed  thar  with  his 
own  hands  and  tell  me  that  ?" 


62  KIO  H  T  Y-  .V TNE. 

My  father  looked  down  at  the  well-worn  slab  and,  rev- 
erently removing  his  hat,  stood  with  bared  head  in  the 
sunlight  as  he  raised  his  eyes  and  said: 

"  Upon  this  stone,  as  an  altar  hallowed  by  a  patriot's 
hands,  I  devote  myself  to  the  cause  which  he  maintained, 
and  on  this  act  I  ask  your  blessing,  mother." 

He  placed  one  knee  upon  the  edge  of  the  porch  and 
bowed  his  head  towards  her  as  he  ceased  speaking. 

Her  faced  flushed.  She  gazed  at  him  with  intense 
longing,  and  then  put  out  her  hands,  trembling  with  ex- 
citement, as  if  she  would  thrust  him  away. 

"It  ain't  any  use.  Godson,  tryin'  to  reason  with  ye — 
never  was.  I  can't  give  ye  my  blessin'  in  this  business.  It 
ain't  right,  an'  I  can't  do  it.  Ye're  jest  offerin'  yerself  fer 
destruction.  Hear  what  the  Word  o'  God  says  about  it.  I 
was  jest  readin'  it  afore  ye  come,  and  wishin'  yer  eyes  would 
light  on  that  very  chapter  an'  verse  agin  it  waur  too  late. 
Ye're  jest  invitin'  evil  an'  a  sentencin'  yer  children  to  shame 
an'  sufferin'.     Jest  listen  at  it,  now." 

She  drew  her  glasses  down  from  her  forehead  and  found 
her  place  in  the  volume  on  her  lap  as  she  spoke.  My  father 
raised  his  head  and  watched  her  face  as  she  read,  following 
the  lines  with  a  trembling  finger.  I  took  off  my  hat  and 
stood  a  hushed  and  wondering  witness  of  this  solemn  scene. 
My  grandmother  read  from  the  book  of  Daniel  : 

"  ;iS'o  tlie  King  of  the  Nor-th  shall  come  and  cast  up  a 
mount  and  take  the  most  fenced  cities  ;  and  the  arms  of  the 


EIGHTY- NINE.  63 

South  shall  not  IV ithdand,  neither  liis  chosen  people,  neither 
shall  there  he  any  strength  to  unthstand. 

"  But  he  that  cometh  against  him  shall  do  according  to 
his  own  unll,  and  none  shall  stand  before  him  ;  and  he  shall 
stand  in  the  glorious  land,  which  by  his  hand  shall  be 
consumed."' 

"It's  all  thar.  writ  out  in  prophesy  so  plain  that  the 
wayfarin'  man  can  read.  The  sword  of  the  Lord  ain't 
gwine  to 'be  with  ye,  son,  an'  ye  can't  never  prevail  without 
it.  Ye'll  jest  fill  the  land  with  blood  an'  sorrow  and  cover 
yerself  with  shame.  That's  what  ye'll  do.  Ye  know  it 
ain't  liberty  nor  right  ye're  gwine  ter  fight  for.  It's  slavery 
an'  wrong.  I  ain't  speakin'  about  the  niggers  ;  though  ef 
they've  got  any  rights,  God  knows  they've  ])een  robbed 
worse'n  any  people  on  earth  ever  was  afore.  I  don't  see 
how  yon  can  bear  to  have  the  weight  of  their  souls  on 
your'n  nohow,  let  alone  fightin'  for  a  chance  to  hold  'em. 
That's  all  it  is  when  you  come  to  sum  it  up.  Ye're  jest  a 
goin'  to  fight  fer  the  greatest  cuss  that's  come  upon  the 
country  from  the  beginning.  It's  held  pore  men  down  an' 
puffed  rich  men  up.  Ye're  gwine  to  bring  tears  an'  blood 
an'  war  on  the  whole  lau',  so  that  a  few  can  git  rich  offen 
Avork  that  ain't  their  own,  an'  pore  men  be  drug  down  to 
the  level  of  the  niggers.  That's  what  ye're  gwine  to  do. 
An'  ye  want  me  to  bless  ye  in  that  ?  I  shan't  never  do  it 
— never  !     Ye  may  kneel  thar  till  the  steppin'-stone  rots 


64  BIOHTY-NINE. 

under  ye,  an'  I  shan't  never  give  ye  my  blessin'  while  ye 
wear  that  uniform  !  " 

She  had  risen  as  she  spoke.  The  book  had  fallen  open 
at  her  feet.  Her  voice  had  grown  loud  and  shrill.  Her 
eyes  flashed,  and  her  long  grey  hair,  which  had  become 
loosened  from  its  iron  comb,  fell  down  on  the  snowy  ker- 
chief that  encased  her  shoulders. 

••  I  see  it  all,"  she  cried,  her  tigure  erect  and  her  eyes 
looking  into  the  distance  as  if  the  future  lay  unrolled  be- 
fore them.  "■  1  see  it  all — woe,  woe — fire  aiid  blood  and  the 
abomination  of  desolation  I  Armies  crowd  the  road  yander. 
They  march  through  the  corn  fields.  There  is  blood  upon 
their  faces — blood  upon  their  hands.  The  thunder  that 
rolls  is  the  roar  of  battle.  They  tromple  down  the  craps. 
They  ravage  and  destroy.  They  * '  possess  the  goodly  land. " 
Women  and  chill'en  flee.  The  hearthstone  is  heaped  with 
the  ashes  of  the  roof-tree.  The  light  upon  their  faces  is 
that  of  a  burnin'  city  that  shines  over  the  hills  beyan'. 
I  see  it  all.  Dead  men  lie  around  the  spring.  Beyond  is 
turmoil  and  uproar  and  defeat.  "  The  King  of  the  North  " 
has  come,  an'  3^ou''re  a  stan'in'  up  agin  him,  my  son,  but 
ye  shall  not  prevail.  It  is  written — the  Lord  hath  spoken 
it.  It  is  tlie  doom  yeVe  invited  yerself — the  fruit  of  yer 
own  folly  I  Oh,  woe,  woe  I  I  see  the  right — I  know  the 
right ;  yet  I  will  pray — I  must  pray — for  the  wrong.  Vain, 
vain  I  It  don't  matter  who  prays — it  don't  matter  who 
fights  ;  the  (lod  that  seeth  the  end  even  from  the  begin- 


EIGHTY- NINE.  65 

ning,  the  God  that  is  the  Lord,  He  hath  writ  an'  He  will  do  I 

"  I  can't  curse  ye,  for  ye're  my  own  flesh  an'  blood  ; 
but  I  will  curse  them  that  made  ye  drunk  with  pride  an' 
are  now  usin'  ye  to  support  the  wrong.  I'd  ruther  a  thous- 
and times  have  seen  ye  in  yer  coffin  than  a  wearin'  that 
uniform.  1  can't  bless  ye — I  can't !  Don't  kneel  thar 
any  more — don't  I  Yes,  stop  ;  I  can't  bless  you.  Godson, 
but  I'll  rech  my  hand  over  yet  head  as  the  prophet  did  of 
old  an'  bless  yer  boy — because  he's  yours  !" 

She  stretched  out  both  her  hands  and  laid  them  on  my 
head  before  I  realized  her  purpose. 

''  Oh,  Lord  God  that  hearest  the  poor  as  well  as  the 
rich,  the  weak  as  well  as  the  strong,  bless  this  one  that  will 
be  left  behind  by  him  that  is  goin'  away.  May  he  love 
peace  and  shun  war.  Keep  his  fayther  in  the  hour  of 
danger,  in  the  day  of  battle  ;  make  him  to  know  the  right, 
and  if  in  aught  he  fail  in  thy  sight,  may  this  child  of  his 
loins,  in  his  day  an'  time,  right  the  wrong  an'  cFar  his 
fayther's  name  from  stain.     Amen." 

My  father's  voice  echoed  the  word.  Rising  to  his  feet, 
he  stood  a  moment  looking  into  her  face,  then  extending 
his  hand  he  said  : 

"Good-bye,  mother." 

"No,  Godson,"  she  answered,  taking  his  hand,  "I 
can't  bless  yer  coat  nor  yer  cause,  but  the  good  Book  says, 
Teed  thine  inimy,'  an  1  shouldn't  feel  right  if  I  let  ye 
ride  home  without  dinner.      Don't  ye  see  the  lad's  jest  a. 


m  EIGHTY   NINE. 

faintin  with  huuger — on  his  birthday,  too  ?  1  was  jest  a 
thiiikiu'  of  it  afore  I  seed  ye  comin',  an'  a  wonderin'  if  he'd 
think  of  his  old  granny  up  among  the  hills,  to-day.  Ye 
may  come  in — ef  ye'll  change  yer  coat,"  she  added,  with  a 
smile. 

"  You  wouldn't  have  your  son  become  a  turn-coat, 
would  3'ou,  Ma?''  he  asked,  with  grave  humor. 

''  No,"  she  answered  quickly,  "nor  a  Tory,  nuther." 

"  Oh!  I'm  not  a  Tory,  Ma  ;  I'm  just  the  reverse — I'm 
a  Rebel." 

'' It  don't  make  no  matter  what  ye  call  yerself.  God- 
son :  I  don't  never  'low  any  kin  of  mine  ter  come  under 
this  ruf  with  anythin'  on  ther  backs  thet  means  any  sort  of 
opposition  to  the  ole  Union  thet  the  Owens  an'  the  Bal- 
fours  both  font  fer  only  three  ginerations  gone  by  !  " 

She  turned  away  with  a  laugh  that  suggested  tears  and 
entered  the  house.  We  sat  down  upon  the  porch,  and 
presently  Sally  Hacket,  the  hireling  that  waited  on  my 
grandmother,  brought  my  father  a  coat.  He  removed  his 
uniform  with  a  quiet  smile  and  put  it  on.  A  moment  after 
my  grandmother  returned  and,  'oending  over  him,  kissed 
his  forehead. 

We  passed  a  pleasant  day  together  at  Ryalmont, 
When  the  shock  of  the  first  surprise  had  Avorn  away,  my 
grandmother  spoke  quietly  of  what  might  happen  during 
his  al)sence.  ITer  language  was  not  entirely  accurate  ac- 
(^ording  to  the  rules  of  the  schools,  neither  was  it  that 


EKillTY-y  INK.  67 

labored  burlesque  of  form  and  sense  which  some  of  our 
modern  writers  have  put  into  the  mouths  of  our  coun- 
try people  for  the  entertainment  of  the  self-complacent 
North.  I  wandered  about  over  the  old  place,  but  my  father 
hardly  left  his  mother's  side  a  moment. 

As  we  started  to  go,  toward  evening,  she  called  him 
back  and  said  : 

"  I  can't  bless  you  in  what  ye  are  gwine  to  do,  God- 
son, but  I  will  pray  every  day  an'  every  hour  that  the  Lord 
will  hev  ye  in  his  keepin',  though  I  shall  never  see  ye 
again.     Good-bye  !" 

She  wrung  his  hand  and  kissed  him  ;  then  sat  down, 
threw  her  apron  over  her  head,  and  wept.  When  we  had 
passed  out  of  sight  of  the  house,  Sally  met  us  with  the 
uniform  coat,  which  he  had  forgotten. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

When  we  reached  the  hill-top.  where  the  last  sight  of 
the  house  could  be  obtained,  my  father  drew  rein  and 
looked  back  long  and  earnestl}'  at  the  home  of  his  child- 
hood. When  at  length  he  turned  and  rode  on,  he  was 
silent  for  a  long  time.     Then  he  said  : 

*'  My  son,  you  have  witnessed  a  strange  sight.  What 
I  am  I  owe  to  my  mother's  iufluence.  Her  example  has 
been  the  inspiration  of  my  life.  To-day,,  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life,  I  have  gone  counter  to  her  wish.  You  heard 
her  words.  You  saw  her  agony.  May  you  never  know 
what  it  is  to  cause  such  grief  !  I  expected  no  less,  yet  I 
could  not  do  otherwise.  You  heard  her  presage  of  disaster. 
She  is  both  right  and  wrong,  in  this  prevision.  To  fore- 
cast the  future,  so  far  as  human  events  are  concerned,  is 
to  give  a  true  reading  of  the  vernier  of  the  present,  cor- 
rected by  knowledge  of  the  past. 

''  She  sees  with  unfailing  accuracy,  so  far  as  her  vision 
extends.  She  thinks  it  revelation.  She  cannot  give  the 
steps  by  which  she  arrives  at  her  conclusion.  She  only 
feels  the  facts.  Sorrow,  humiliation,  disaster — that  is  all 
she  sees.  If  my  vision  were  bounded  by  the  same  limita- 
tions, I  should  feel  as  she  does.  But  I  see  beyond,  or  think 
I  do.     God  forgive  me  if  T  am  wrong  !" 

68 


EIGHTY -NINE.  69 

We  rode  on  a  little  way  in  silence.  Then  he  continued: 
"  But  I  am  not  wrong.  I  cannot  be  wrong.  I  have 
been  over  the  ground  too  many  times.  I  know  I  am  not 
prejudiced  by  any  motive  tainted  with  self -advantage.  I 
would  not  engage  in  war  to  gain  a  kingdom  or  to  win  the 
highest  place  upon  the  roll  of  fame.  I  have  a  profound 
contempt  for  any  fame  that  is  not  based  upon  the  better- 
ment, or  the  attempted  betterment,  of  mankind. 

"  Your  grandmother  thinks  I  have  enlisted  in  the 
cause  of  the  Confederacy  for  the  sake  of  slavery.  She  little 
knows  how  fully  I  agree  with  her  in  regard  to  that  insti- 
tution. I  wish  it  had  never  existed  in  America.  Nay,  my 
son,  slaveholder  as  I  am,  I  could  wish  it  might  at  once  be 
swept  out  of  existence,  if  only  the  enslaved  race  might  dis- 
appear with  it.  That  is  the  real  trouble.  Betwixt  slavery 
and  liberty  there  is  not  much  choice  for  them.  Indeed,  I 
am  inclined  to  think  that  slavery  is  altogether  preferable 
for  them  until  they  have  gained  in  numbers  and  intelli- 
gence, so  as  to  make  liberty  a  secure  estate  for  both  them 
and  those  who  must  dwell  with  them.  This  is  our  prob- 
lem, my  son.  God  has  thrust  its  solution  upon  us  and  we 
must  work  it  out.  To  the  people  of  the  North  it  seems  a 
simple  matter.  If  the  slaves  were  free,  they  think  there 
would  be  an  end  of  slavery.  It  is  a  mistake.  The  prob- 
lem would  then  be  only  half  stated,  not  by  any  means  half 
solved.  Between  slavery  and  freedom  there  is  but  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye.     Between  the  slave  and  the  freeman 


70  EIGHTY-NI^E. 

there  must  be  geuenitions — perhaps  centuries.  If  the  necro 
could  be  removed  to-morrow,  the  patriots  of  the  South  would 
far  better  endure  the  loss  than  see  a  drop  of  blood  shed  in 
defence  of  slavery.  But  this  is  impossible  ;  and  unless  it 
can  be  done,  the  South  must  hold  the  control  of  this  ques- 
tion, and  all  questions  connected  with  it,  in  her  own  hands. 
Xo  doubt  freedom  must  come  to  the  slave  some  time.  For 
the  benefit  of  the  white  man  it  cannot  come  too  soon.  But 
when  it  does  come,  what  shall  be  done  with  the  negro  ? 
That  is  the  question  the  South  must  answer — the  question 
she  has  been  divinely  fitted  and  prepared  to  answer.'' 

Then,  after  another  silence  : 

''Perhaps  she  is  I'ight — your  grandmother,  I  mean. 
I  believe  our  attempt  will  fail.  The  war  will  be  long  and 
bloody,  but  the  enemy  Avill  be  victorious.  The  very  ground 
where  we  stand  may  be  stained  with  blood.  The  tide  of 
battle  may  flow  by  the  old  homestead.  And  when  it  is  all 
over,  the  South  will  be  subjugated — conquered — overcome 
— but  not  changed  I 

"  My  work  will  have  been  done,  though.  I  shall  not 
live  to  see  that  day — I  do  not  wish  to  see  it.  But  the  seed 
will  have  been  sown.  Some  other  hand  must  reap  the 
harvest — consummate  the  task  of  deliverance  from  our  un- 
equal yokefellow.  Perhaps  it  will  even  be  a  peaceful 
work,  too.  God  grant  it  may  !  There  will  be  blood 
enough  shed — brothers'  blood,  too — in  the  struggle  that 
now    impends.      It    may  be  that    the    war  which    comes 


BIGHTY-NINE.  71 

will  open  the  eyes  of  nil  our  people  so  that  they  will  see  the 
truth,  and  what  arms  shall  fail  to  eli'ect,  wisdom  and  peace 
may  achieve.  It  may  indeed  be  true  that  the  wise  old 
mother  made  no  mistake  when  she  passed  me  by  and  laid 
on  your  head  the  benison  of  peace." 

It  was  after  nightfall  when  Secession  and  the  doughty 
thorough-bred  mare  I  rode  jogged  easily  through  the  city's 
dimly-lighted  streets.  As  we  drew  near  the  Grove,  my 
father  slackened  his.  rein,  and,  laying  his  hand  upon  my 
shoulder,  said  m  a  soft,  tremulous  tone  : 

''My  son,  let  what  you  have  seen  and  heard  to-day, 
as  Hamlet  says,  ' '  be  tenable  in  you r  silence. "  The  time  will 
come  when  you  will  better  comprehenc>  its  import.  At 
present,  no  good  can  come  from  speaking  of  what  few  would 
understand.  We  have  to  take  the  world  as  it  is  and  make 
the  best  we  can  of  it.  I  am  going  into  the  conflict.  I 
may  never  return.  I  have  a  feeling  that  I  shall  not.  If  I 
fall,  I  will  leave  you  at  least  a  name  untainted  with  dishonor 
and  perhaps  an  unfinished  task.  You  are  coming  very 
soon  to  manhood.  Such  times  as  these  ripen  hearts  won- 
derfully fast.  Your  mother,  sister  and  grandmother  will 
all  lean  on  you  for  support,  should  I  fall.  I  wish  yon  to 
promise,  therefore,  that  you  will  never  forget  this  duty — 
that  however  long  the  conflict  may  continue,  you  will  never 
leave  them  to  enter  the  army." 

He  dropped  his  hand  to  mine  and  held  it  in  his  strong. 


73  EIGHTY-NIN  E. 

warm  grasp  for  a  moment,   after  I  had  said^  in  a  voice 
choked  with  tears,  "I  will." 

Then  we  rode  on  to  the  Grove  and  met  a  little  com- 
pany who  had  come  to  celebrate  my  birthday.  The  new 
birth  had  come  upon  the  anniversary  of  the  old.  The 
change  the  day  had  wrought  had  been  so  great  that  I 
hardly  relished  the  simple  pleasures  1  had  looked  forward 
to  with  such  keen  anticipation.  In  the  morning  I  had 
been  a  boy.     At  night  I  had  become  a  man. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

My  grandmother  was  a  Balfour ;  my  mother  an  Elspre. 
To  one  acquainted  with  the  region  nothing  more  need  be 
said.  The  Elspres  claimed  Huguenot  descent^  were  rich, 
proud  and  enterprising.  The  Balfours,  as  my  grandmother 
was  wont  to  say.,  were  "pore  and  proud  from  far  back." 
Though  the  hearts  of  both  were  bound  up  in  my  father, 
they  had  little  else  in  common. 

They  represented  the  extremes  of  social  forces — the 
rich,  proud  woman  of  the  low-country  and  the  "pore." 
proud  woman  of  the  hills.  Their  love  drew  them  together, 
but  they  remained  distinctive  types.  The  rich  gentle- 
woman had  something  close  akm  to  dread  of  the  stern- 
faced  mother  who  had  broken  away  from  the  traditions  of 
her  class  and  forced  her  son  up  through  the  intervening 
strata  to  the  highest  social  level.  They  represented  the 
two  great  elements  of  Southern  life — the  aristocracy, 
builded  on  slavery,  and  the  non-slaveholding  masses. 
Numerically  considered,  these  elements  were  as  one  to  fif- 
teen. They  were  united  by  attributes  which  mad6  them 
unmistakable  components  of  a  common  whole,  yet  sepa- 
rated by  impulses  and  characteristics  so  dissimilar  as  to 
awaken  constant  wonder  in  the  mind  of  the  observer  that 
they  did  not  fall  apart.     They  were  held  together  by  a  force 

73 


74  EIGHTY- NINE. 

at  once  attractive  and  repellant  in  its  action.  The  pres- 
ence of  another  and  nnassiniilable  race  tended  to  unify, 
while  its  enslavement  tended  to  divide.  The  key  to  the 
mystery  of  Southern  life  lay  in  tlie  fact  that  the  attractive 
force  was  vastly  more  potent  than  the  repellant  one.  In 
truth,  the  more  numerous  class  dominated  even  then  our 
social  and  jDolitical  fortunes,  yet  the  smaller  one  was  credi- 
ted with  all  the  power,  and  was  accepted  by  the  world,  and 
perhaps  by  ourselves,  as  the  controlling  element  and  domi- 
nant type  of  our  life. 

The  "  poor-white"  of  the  South  has  always  been  a 
mystery  to  the  people  of  the  North.  To  them  the  numer- 
ically small  proportion  of  our  people  w'ho  were  the  owners 
of  slaves  constituted  the  only  significant  element  of 
Southern  life.  The  others  were  simply  their  down  trodden 
and  despised  dependents,  too  ignorant  to  know  how  they 
were  oppressed  and  too  debased  to  care  whether  they  en- 
joyed their  rights  or  not.  Looking  at  the  matter  with  that 
thorough  apprehension  of  Northern  thought  which  the 
events  of  my  life  have  given,  I  am  not  surprised  that  this 
view  should  have  been  taken.  It  was  unquestionably  a  cu- 
rious gradation  of  society  that  resulted  from  the  develop- 
ment of  our  Southern  civilization.  To  us  the  term  "^poor- 
white''  or  "white-trash,"  marked  only  the  line  betw'een 
slaveholder  and  non-slaveholder.  It  was  a  term  of  obloquy, 
simply  because  there  was  an  inherent  antagonism  between 
the  two  classes.     Like  a  party  name,  Avhileit  might  be  used 


EIGHTY- NINE.  75 

to  conve}'  a  sneer,  it  did  not  necessarily  import  personal 
unworthiness.  In  the  month  of  the  negro  it  became  a 
taunt,  and  on  the  lips  of  those  to  whom  it  was  applied  an 
expression  of  morbid  defiance.  Softened  to  "  poor  folks,'' 
it  indeed  conveyed  a  somewhat  different  idea.  '•  Poor  but 
respectable"  w^as  then  its  significance,  without  any  of  that 
degrading  flavor  of  patronage  which  attaches  to  the  phrase 
among  other  peoples. 

Of  course,  there  were  almost  infinite  gradations.  The 
term  covered  all  between  the  planter's  mansion  and  the 
squatter's  hovel.  They  differed  in  degree,  but  were  all  af- 
fected hj  certain  fundamental  conditions.  They  were  sep- 
arated I'rom  the  slave-holder  by  the  fact  of  his  mastershij), 
and  from  the  negro  by  the  facts  of  race  and  servitude. 

Their  poverty  did  not  imply  want  or  discontent.  They 
had  what  the  land  yielded  to  their  own  labor,  and  they 
worked  much  or  little  as  they  chose.  The  soil  in  the  moun- 
tain coves  was  rich  and  quick;  the  climate  genial.  A  little 
yielded  enough,  and  they  were  not  prodigal  of  toil.  The 
woods  were  full  of  game,  and  the  streams  abounded  in  fish.  A 
little  ''  sang"  *  furnished  enough  of  luxury.  The  land  was 
theirs,  or  was  supposed  to  be.  The  boundaries  might  be 
somewhat  indistinct,  the  corners  uncertain  and  their  title  de- 
pendent on  the  bar  of  limitation.  If  witnessed  by  deed  or 
grant,  the  customary  "more  or  less"  might  be  its  most 
significant  phrase.     To  them  to  be  "pore"  meant  simply 

♦  Ginseng. 


76  EJGHTY-NINK. 

to  be  indepeudent.  Somehow  the  word  seems  to  me,  even 
yet,  to  have  a  different  significance  when  given  the  long, 
drawling  *'o,"  and  soft  liquid  '•  r,"  of  the  country  people. 
They  counted  it  a  certificate  of  merit,  which  showed  that 
they  had  always  been  self-supporting  and  implied  that  they 
were  honest.  They  lived  at  home  ;  had  enough  for  them- 
selves and  the  customary  hospitality  of  the  region,  which 
does  not  depend  on  sumptuousness  nor  derive  any  of  its 
flavor  by  comparison.  The  poorest  shared  his  poverty  with 
friend  or  stranger  without  thought  of  apology,  and  he 
would  be  a  bold  man  who  dared  show  any  lack  of  appetite. 
If  our  rich  were  haughty,  our  poor  were  independent. 
The  Balfours  were  "pore- whites.*'  The  nearest  any 
of  them  had  come  to  fame  was  the  ancestral  baker  who 
signed  "  the  solemn  league  and  covenant"  in  order  to  in- 
crease the  sale  of  his  "Glasgow  buns."  The  nearest  ap- 
proach one  of  them  had  made  to  wealth  was  perhaps  the 
doughty  zealot  whom  Cromwell  compelled  to  ride  to  battle 
with  what  was  thought  to  be  a  stolen  tankard  about  his 
neck.  He  fought  so  well  that  the  questionable  pewter  was 
something  near  half-filled  with  pistol  bullets  when  the 
King's  forces  were  scattered  at  Naseby.  Cromwell,  so 
runs  the  family  tradition,  struck  by  this  indubitable  evi- 
dence of  Divine  approval,  allowed  him  to  wear  the  battered 
cup  as  a  decoration,  filled  it  full  of  silver  coin  in  atonement 
for  the  false  charge  and  made  him  u  sergeant  in  his  regi- 
ment of  horse. 


EIGHTY.  NINE.  77 

These  things  may  be  apocryphal,  but  it  is  certain  that 
Davy  Balfour  came  to  the  new  colony  which  Oglethorpe 
had  founded  expressly  for  ''  the  poor  who  were  indebted  to 
the  rich  and  distressed  Protestants  everywhere,"  one  of  the 
most  thoroughly-fitted  of  all  its  denizens  to  claim  the  im- 
munities of  that  Cave  of  Adullam,  which,  by  a  curious  fate, 
has  become  the  keystone  of  a  nationality.  No  man  in  all 
"the  Savannah  country,"  as  it  was  then  called,  gave  more  un- 
mistakable evidence  of  poverty  or  bore  a  clearer  testimony 
before  the  session.  His  descendants,  to  use  the  country 
phrase,  "  held  their  own"  remarkably  well,  so  far,  at  least, 
as  worldly  gear  was  concerned.  The  Balfours  were  many 
and  poor  in  the  hill-country.  They  were  also  proud — 
especially  proud  of  their  poverty. 

He  of  th&  pewter  tankard,  "  Ole  Davy,"  who  cursed 
the  great  Whitefield  in  the  presence  of  assembled  thousands, 
for  persuading  the  Council  of  Administration  to  admit 
slavery  within  the  colony  which  had  been  chartered  espe- 
cially as  a  refuge  for  "deserving  white  laborers,"  and  "  Davy 
the  Second,"  who  was  the  strongest  man  and  most  noted 
bully  in  the  mountains  in  his  day — these  were  the  noted 
names  of  tlie  Balfour  pedigree.  Truly  they  do  not  seem 
much  to  be  proud  of,  yet  my  grandmother  was  very  proud 
of  them.  Her  husband  was  usually  known  as  "  Easy 
Owen,"  a  corruption,  she  always  insisted,  of  his  name  Israel, 
but  more  probably  a  bit  of  primitive  nomenclature  based 
on  his  character,  to  which   might  well  be  attributed  the 


78  EIOHTY-NINE. 

fact  that  he  lived  peacefully  and  happily  with  high-strung 
Elsie  Balfour,  during  the  few  years  of  life  he  was  permitted 
to  enjoy  after  his  marriage. 

With  his  death  came  my  grandmother's  time  of  trial. 
No  child  had  been  born  of  the  marriage,  and  it  was  more 
than  six  months  afterwards  when  a  son  came  to  cheer  her 
loneliness.  Because  of  these  circumstances  he  was  named 
Godson.  Perhaps  the  lonely  woman  hoped  that  he  would 
bring  her  also  deliverance  from  the  persecutions  which  had 
already  begun. 

Her  husband  having  died  intestate,  my  grandmother 
had  by  law  only  the  dower  right  of  a  widow  in  his  estate. 
Without  direct  heirs,  the  title  of  Ryalmont  must  descend 
to  tlie  collateral  heirs  of  her  husband  ;  and  these  had  already 
taken  steps  to  assert  their  claim  before  the  birth  of  my  fa- 
ther. No  doubt  the  simple-hearted  x'oung  widow  thought 
the  birth  of  the  child  would  end  tlie  controversy.  I  can 
imagine  her  surprise  and  rage  when  she  learned  that  instead 
of  abandoning  their  claims,  the  heirs  chose  to  contest  the 
legitimacy  of  the  child. 

No  stain  of  this  sort  had  ever  fallen  on  a  Balfour,  and 
the  whole  community  rallied  to  her  side  while  she  mustered 
her  energies  to  repel  the  charge.  It  was  a  notable  contest. 
The  records  of  our  Supreme  Court  bear  testimony  to  its 
fierceness.  When  it  was  ended  the  widow's  allowance  was 
gone  and  the  right  of  dower  encumbered  ;  but  the  Bal- 
four pi'ide  was  vindicated  and  my  father,   in   his  cradle. 


was  dedicated  to  the  profession  to  which  he  was  indebted 
for  the  name  he  bore.  To  achieve  this  end  she  accounted 
no  sacrifice  too  great,  no  exertion  too  severe.  Her  life 
thenceforth  became  not  one  of  actual  want,  but  of  unre- 
mitting care  and  constant  self-denial. 

I  had  ahvays  been  a  favorite  with  her  and  to  me  she 
was  a  patron  saint  whom  it  was  heresy  to  doubt.  I  had 
lived  with  her  almost  as  much  as  with  my  parents  and  was 
known  among  the  servants  as  ''Miss  Elsie's  Boy."  Yet  I 
knew  that  she  loved  me  chiefly  because  I  was  her  son's  son, 
and  the  veneration  with  which  I  regarded  my  father  was  in 
no  small  degree  due  to  the  mother-love  that  never  wearied 
of  the  story  of  his  life.  From  the  moment  that  her  hand 
rested  on  my  head  in  that  fiery  benediction,  which  sounded 
like  a  curse,  however,  I  was  conscious  of  a  change.  From 
that  time  she  always  spoke  of  my  father,  not  exactly  as  one 
dead,  but  as  one  whose  life-work  had  ended.  She  seemed 
to  think  that  the  future  held  nothing  for  him  that  was  in 
harmony  with  his  past.  He  had  strayed  from  the  path  her 
ambition  had  marked  out,  and  her  hope  had  passed  over  to 
me  with  her  benediction.  It  was  not  a  very  lively  hope. 
The  future  held  little  brightness  to  her  view.  She  only 
prayed  that  I  might  do  something — she  had  little  care 
what  it  might  be — to  redeem  the  name  of  her  son  from  the 
ignomy  she  believed  would  attend  his  course.  For  her  son 
was  still  her  idol — an  idol  to  whom  the  sweetest  memories 
were  offered  in  unceasing  worship,  but  before  whose  shrine 
the  censer  of  hope  no  longer  hung. 


CHAPTER  X. 

My  grandmother  used  sometimes  to  add  to  her  allitera- 
tive self-description  the  term  Presbyterian.  Applied  to  her 
individually  it  had  no  especial  significance.  Regarding 
her  as  one  of  a  class,  it  represents  a  most  essential  element 
of  the  inherent  difference  between  the  two  sections  of  the 
great  republic.  The  religious  life  of  the  North  was  built 
on  Puritanic  lines ;  that  of  the  South  on  a  Presbyterian 
model.  I  do  not  speak  of  either  as  a  distinct  sect  but  as  a 
religious  force.  Puritanism  as  a  form  of  belief  has  abso- 
lutely disappeared  from  Northern  life,  while  at  the  South 
the  simple  faith  of  Knox,  though  by  far  outnumbered  by 
other  sects,  has  retained  its  hold  upon  the  ideal  and  colored 
the  whole  religious  thought. 

Not  only  has  Northern  unbelief  and  irreligious  specu- 
lation never  been  able  to  secure  a  foothold  at  the  South, 
but  the  religious  atmosphere  is  essentially  distinct  from 
that  of  the  North.  It  is  this  fact,  far  more  than  any  politi- 
cal divergence,  which  has  long  since  separated  the  various 
sects  into  distinct  bodies,  known  in  common  parlance,  at 
least,  as  Northern  and  Southern  Churches.  This  separa- 
tion has  usually  been  attributed  to  Slavery,  but  it  is  far 
more  a  matter  of  sentiment  than  of  dogma. 
80 


EIGHTY-NINE.  81 

The  simple  truth  is  that  the  religious  life  of  each  sec- 
tion is  colored  by  its  social  and  intellectual  characteristics. 
That  of  the  North  is  manifested  by  a  restless,  eager  mis- 
sionary zeal,  which  ransacks  the  uttermost  parts  of  the 
earth  in  search  of  charitable  labor  and  proselyting  oppor- 
tunity. It  approves  itself  by  its  works,  and  is  less  con- 
cerned about  securing  salvation  for  the  individual  than  in 
promoting  the  common  good.  It  is  little  given  to  self-scru- 
tiny, but  never  rests  in  its  watch-care  over  others.  It  is 
commercial  in  its  character  and  methods.  It  prides  itself 
on  the  enterprise  it  displays  and  measures  its  own  sincerity 
not  by  any  interior  standard,  but  by  the  visible  results  of 
its  activity.  It  is  given  to  improved  methods,  economies 
and  statistics.  It  estimates  the  value  of  a  missionary  field 
by  the  average  cost  of  conversion,  and  prides  itself  upon  the 
skill  with  which  it  induces  even  the  irreligious  to  contribute 
to  its  enterprises.  Its  influence  is  centrifugal ;  its  field,  the 
whole  orb  of  the  earth  ;  and  its  mission — to  set  others  right. 
This  was  the  distinctive  principle  of  Puritanism.  It  was 
essentially  aggressive  and  prescriptive.  It  concerned  itself 
with  others'  thoughts,  opinions  and  conduct.  It  sought  to 
enforce  conformity  with  its  own  ideas.  It  planted  the  seed 
of  pious  intermeddling  and  made  Paul  Pry  its  model  of 
religious  excellence. 

The  religious  ideal  of  the  South  is  in  striking  contrast 
with  this.  It  is  the  spirit  of  the  kirk  rather  than  of  the 
conventicle.     It  is  inti'ospective  rather  than  circumspective; 


8-Z  EIGHTY-NINE. 

defensive  rather  than  aggressive  in  character.  Ir  lividual 
salvation,  rather  than  the  evangelization  of  the  world,  is  its 
prime  objective.  It  has  boundless  kindness,  but  it  is  not 
given  to  exhaustive  search  for  evil.  It  cherishes  no  ill-will 
for  its  neighbor,  but  leaves  liim  to  manage  his  own  affairs. 
If  he  choose  the  better  part,  well  and  good  ;  if  he  does  not, 
the  responsibility  is  his  own.  So  the  North  sends  forth  an 
army  of  missionaries.  The  South  with  difficulty  provides 
its  own  churches.  The  one  is  lavish  of  money  ;  the  other 
of  pr.iyers.  There  is  no  essential  difference  of  dogma  ;  but 
the  poles  hardly  indicate  greater  divergence  of  sentiment. 
The  one  is  no  doubt  the  broader  in  its  sympathies  ;  the 
other  the  more  intense  in  its  convictions.  Love  of  human- 
ity is  the  mainspring  of  the  one  ;  personal  salvation  of  the 
other. 

While,  therefore,  ray  grandmother  boasted  herself  a 
Presbyterian,  the  most  distinctive  feature  of  her  religious 
faith  was  its  essential  harmony  with  the  life  about  her. 
"What  she  disapproved  she  utterly  abominated  and  con- 
temned, but  she  did  not  feel  it  her  duty  to  wage  war  against 
it  in  others.  Curiously  enough  and  incomprehensible  as 
it  may  seem,  the  one  thing  she  hated  most  was  slavery. 
Jack,  who  lived  at  Ryalmont,  was  practically  free.  He 
looked  after  the  plantation  and  was  assiduous  in  his  care 
for  the  comfort  of  "  the  ole  Missus,"  but  what  Jack  did  for 
her  she  counted  only  as  his  voluntary  act.  That  she  even 
tolerated  his  presence  was  a  remarkable  thing,  for  with  the 


EIGHTY.  NINE.  83 

seeming  inconsistency  of  her  class,  the  object  of  her  bit- 
terest animosity  next  to  the  institution  of  slavery,  was 
the  slave  himself — the  negro.  This  is  the  real  key  to 
what  seems  to  superficial  observers  an  uusoluble  mystery. 
Southern  life  is  distinctive,  homogeneous  and  jealous  of 
interference  with  its  details,  simply  because  the  African 
dwells  among  us.  But  for  this  fact  the  line  betwixt  North 
and  South  had  never  been  drawn,  and  until  it  no  longer 
exists,  that  line  can  never  be  obliterated.  The  underlying 
distinction  is  that  upon  one  side  the  Anglo-Saxon  dwells 
alone,  while  on  the  other  side  a  black  face  peers  querulously 
if  not  threateningly  into  every  white  one.  This  has  shaped 
our  civilization  hitherto,  and  must  control  our  destiny 
hereafter. 


CHAPTER  XL 

It  is  needless  to  relate  what  followed.  One  word  tells 
it  all  to  him  that  knows  the  story,  and  to  him  who  does  not 
there  ai'e  not  words  enough  to  reveal  its  woe.  War  !  The 
culmination  of  horrors  and  climax  of  folly  I  The  fire  m 
which  the  hero  is  tested  !  The  crucible  in  which  the  dross 
of  prejudice  is  melted  away  and  the  fine  gold  of  truth 
gathered  into  shining  ingots  I  As  a  fact,  the  most  insig- 
nificant in  the  world's  life  ;  as  a  force,  the  most  trivial ;  as 
a  result,  the  most  notable. 

Where  men  fought,  and  how  and  who  they  were  that 
won,  and  who  they  were  that  lost,  it  is  folly  to  consider. 
Why  they  fought,  to  attain  what  end  or  prevent  what  de- 
sign and  with  what  result — these  are  the  questions  humanity 
asks*  and  history  ought  to  answer.  Beyond  that,  war  means 
nothing.  Men  were  brave  or  cowardly,  true  or  false  ;  they 
survived  or  perished.  That  is  all.  There  may  be  a  back- 
ground of  honor  for  the  victors  and  of  woe  for  the  van- 
quished ;  of  suffering  and  self-sacrifice  ;  of  personal  heroism 
and  collective  triumph — -but  these  are  nothing.  Men  live 
and  die  In  itself  life  means  nothing  to  the  present  and 
death  means  nothing  to  the  future.  Why  men  live  and 
for  tvhat  they  die — these  are  the  only  substantial  tiuths  of 
84 


EIGHTTNINE.  85 

life.  Grallant  deeds  are  but  the  torch  that  shows  the  hero's 
soul.  Like  pestilence  and  crime,  war  teaches  only  by  the 
study  of  its  causes.  Good  comes  from  it  only  as  it  shows 
the  bitterness  of  evil.  The  dead  it  leaves,  the  wounds,  the 
woe,  the  agony — what  are  they  but  stripes  by  which  its 
lessons  are  enforced  ?  Yet  how  sweet  its  triumphs,  how 
enchanting  its  glories  !  How  bitter  its  woes,  yet  how 
beneficent  its  results  I 

"War  came.  My  father  fought.  I  watched  over  our 
home  circle.  There  was  a  year  of  exultation.  The 
glory  of  anticipated  triumph  lighted  the  horizon.  My 
mother's  eyes  shone  with  ex^^ectancy.  My  grandmother 
even  began  to  relent.  The  two  households  had  become  one 
since  my  father's  departure.  We  said  it  was  for  my  grand- 
mother's sake  ;  I  think  it  was  for  our  own.  The  Grove 
was  lonely  after  my  father  left  us,  and  it  seemed  as  if  we 
were  nearer  him  at  Ryalmont.  ]\Iy  mother  loved  the 
mountain-home  almost  as  much  as  my  grandmother-.  So 
we  came  here  and  waited.  Tlie  year  closed,  and  the  end 
had  not  come.  My  father  wrote  to  me  on  my  next  birth- 
day that  a  great  battle  was  expected  soon,  and  many  thought 
the  war  would  then  be  over.  He  did  not  give  his  own 
opinion. 

Then  came  a  twelvemonth  of  intermingled  hope  and 
fear.  The  mother  would  not  doubt.  The  grandmother 
had  ceased  to  hope.  My  father— but  the  record  of  his  ca- 
reer is  too  well  known  to  need  a  reference  to  its  incidents. 


86  EIGHTY- NINE. 

In  the  winter  my  mother  and  Httle  sister  went  to  him  in 
the  quarters  where  the  army  lay.  We  still  lived  at  Ryal- 
mont.  The  war  was  all  at  the  east  or  the  far  west.  Here  in 
the  mountains  of  Georgia  we  were  safe.  As  the  year  ended 
it  came  a  little  nearer,  but  we  did  not  fear.  I  had  grown 
to  be  a  man  and  managed  the  plantation  at  the  Grove, 
with  the  aid  of  Christopher,  in  a  manner  to  meet  my 
mother's  approval.  She  thought  me  like  her  father,  and 
often  spoke  of  me  as  an  Elspre.  But  my  grandmother 
thought  me  a  Balfour.  She  was  aging  swiftly  under  the 
sad  burden  of  these  last  days.  She  looked  upon  me  as 
the  head  of  the  house,  passing  by  my  father  as  if  he  were 
dead.  On  this  birthday  there  was  a  great  battle  and  my 
father  did  not  write  his  usual  letter  for  that  anniversary 
until  some  days  afterwards.  He  told  of  '"Stonewall" 
Jackson's  death,  and  declared  that  the  hope  of  our  cause 
perished  with  him.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  we  gained  no 
more  victories.  The  great  chief  could  still  fight  battles, 
but  without  his  great  lieutenant  he  seemed  unable  to  de- 
stroy armies. 

Soldiers  were  needed  as  the  struggle  grew  more  doubt- 
ful. I  begged  my  father  to  give^me  back  my  pledge  and 
let  me  come  and  fight  by  his  side — under  his  eye.  Again 
and  again  I  sought  to  be  released  from  this  first  irksome 
bond  which  a  swift-ripening  manhood  had  cast  about  my 
aspiration.  Again  and  again  I  implored  him  to  grant  me 
the  poor  privilege — nay,  the  glorious  privilege,  I  deemed 


EIGHTT-NI NE.  g? 

it — of  defending  my  native  land  from  invasion.  But  he 
would  not  yield.  Of  course,  I  could  not  abandon  those  he 
had  given  me  in  charge,  even  if  I  had  been  willing  to  break 
my  word.  So  I  sat  with  folded  hands  and  waited  while  the 
tide  of  war  drew  near  I  hoped  the  mandate  of  the  law 
would  override  my  promise  and  compel  me  to  perform  the 
service  I  yearned  to  undertake,  but  the  "twenty  slaves" 
upon  the  home  plantation  barred  the  law's  demand.  For 
every  score  that  wrought,  it  was  deemed  necessary  that 
there  should  be  one  to  direct  and  control,  by  doing  which 
it  was  thought  he  served  the  country  better  than  if  he  were 
in  the  field. 

My  father  answered  my  appeals  with  that  calm  wisdom 
which  to  youth  seems  always  the  height  of  folly.  He  told 
me  that  the  darker  the  outlook,  the  more  inevitable  the 
prospect  of  disaster^  the  more  essential  it  was  that  I  should 
perform  the  duty  he  had  allotted  to  me.  He  reminded  me 
that  if  I  were  not  a  soldier  in  fact,  I  had  been  assigned  to 
a  specific  duty,  to  the  performance  of  which  life  and  honor 
were  pledged.  If  I  should  fail  in  this,  he  must  resign  his 
place  and  return  to  attend  to  it  himself.  To  his  commands 
were  added  the  entreaties  of  those  left  in  my  charge.  I  do 
not  think  it  was  so  much  the  need  of  my  assistance  or  pro- 
tection that  inspired  my  mother's  prayers,  as  the  desire 
that  her  son  might  be  kept  from  peril.  Perhaps  a  premo- 
nition of  approaching  widowhood  enhanced  her  anxiety. 
My  grandmother,  besides  leaning  upon  me  as  she  had  never 


88  EIGHTY-NINE. 

done  upon  my  father,  age  tiud  weakness  making  her  more 
dependent,  was  anxious  above  all  things  to  keep  me  uncon- 
taminated  by  service  for  the  Confederacy.  She  had  long 
ceased  to  avow  her  disapproval  of  the  war,  since  she  could 
not  openly  oppose  it  without  seeming  to  cast  discredit  upon 
her  son,  which  she  would  rather  have  died  than  do.  But 
she  had  an  intense  desire  that  I  should  not  actively  engage  in 
the  struggle.  I  do  not  think  she  regarded  it  as  so  great  a 
wrong,  but  she  deemed  the  enterprise  predestined  to  fail- 
ure. The  prophet's  use  of  the  terms  North  and  South  had 
fixed  it  in  her  mind  that  it  was  to  this  conflict  that  his 
words  referred.  No  argument  or  explanation  could  change 
conviction.  The  words  came  to  her  lips  almost  uncon- 
sciously whenever  the  subject  was  mentioned,  and  she  used 
to  repeat  them  with  sad,  solemn  emphasis  as  if  they  were 
the  knell  of  all  her  hope. 

"  '  The  King  of  the  North  shall  come  !  Shall  come, 
saith  the  Lord,  shall — come  / ' " 

Then  she  would  scan  the  northern  sky  as  if  slie  expected 
to  see  the  ensigns  of  the  foe  upon  the  mountain  crests, 
always  concluding  with  a  careful  scrutiny  of  the  mouth  of 
Ryal's  Pass. 

"  There's  whar  they'll  come,"  she  would  say,  "right 
through  that  gorge  whar  Ey'l  Owen  hid  from  the  Injins, 
when  they  do  come  to  'possess  the  goodly  land."' 

Her  grey  hairs  and  solemn,  assured  manner  made  her 
words  very  impressive. 


EIGHTY-NINE.  89 

It  was  hard  for  my  mother  to  bear  up  against  such 
depressing  influences,  but  she  was  a  brave  woman,  despite 
her  simple  domesticity,  and  never  added  a  feather's  weight 
to  another's  burden  by  speaking  of  her  own.  By  these 
influences  I  was  kept,  doing  the  little  that  was  entrusted 
to  me,  but  chafing  always  because  it  was  so  little  while 
such  great  deeds  were  waiting  for  willing  hands. 

Then  the  fourth  year  came.  How  shall  I  write  of  those 
dark  days  ?  No  tale  of  heroism  can  lighten  their  horror! 
A  torn  and  bleeding  country  !  The  tide  of  battle  sweeping 
by  our  very  doors  !  My  grandmother's  sanguinary  forecast 
realized  I  Herself  a  victim  of  war's  ruthless  savagery  and  I 
— her  best-beloved,  who  had  received  the  blessing  that 
should  have  rested  on  the  head  of  her  son — I  the  unwit- 
ting instrument  of  her  death  !  No,  no  I  Let  me  not  say  it 
— let  me  not  think  it !  If  the  battle's  awful  voice  chant- 
ed her  requiem  let  me  hope  that  He  whose  words  her  dying 
eyes  perused  ordered  her  end  in  peace  ! 

The  agony  of  this  terrible  time  comes  to  me  through 
the  intervening  years  with  a  vividness  that  beads  my  brow 
with  woful  drops.  Have  patience  with  my  weakness,  gen- 
tle reader,  and  let  me  turn  away  from  the  horrors  of  war 
for  a  little  while,  to  consider  one  of  its  lessons.  Perchance 
I  may  thereby  gain  strength  to  relate  the  ghastly  facts  that 
are  forever  photographed  upon  my  memory. 

That  year  no  birthday  letter  came.  The  man  of 
destiny  had  appeared — the  relentless  butcher  to  whom  noth- 


90  EIGHTY-NINE. 

ing  was  of  any  moment  save  the  task  which  fate  had  set  him 
to.perform — and  genius  and  valor  were  alike  vain  before  his 
resistless  will.  From  that  time  until  the  end,  the  roar  of 
battle  was  too  continuous  to  give  breathing  time  for  senti- 
ment. I  was  afterwards  to  learn  how  heavily  the  thought 
of  the  future  rested  on  my  father's  heart  in  these  tumultu- 
ous days. 


CHAPTER   XIT. 

To  the  North,  the  unanimity  with  which  the  Southern 
people  espoused  the  cause  of  the  Confederacy  is  even  yet 
an  insoluble  mystery.  Hardly  more  than  half  a  million 
of  them  were  actual  owners  of  slaves.  Perhaps  two  mil- 
lions more  may  be  said  to  have  had  an  interest,  near  or 
remote,  actual  or  contingent,  in  this  sort  of  property. 
According  to  the  theory  of  the  struggle  which  has  been 
accepted  by  the  North,  that  it  was  solely  a  war  for 
the  perpetuation  of  slavery,  two-thirds  of  our  people 
engaged  in  a  conflict  in  the  result  of  which  they  had 
no  interest,  unless  perhaps  an  adverse  one.  To  account  for 
this  fact,  the  North  have  invented  the  curious  theory  that 
the  common  people  of  the  South  were,  because  of  their  igno- 
rance, either  driven  or  led  whithersoever  the  slave-holding 
element  desired.  There  could  not  be  a  more  palpable  fal- 
sification of  a  very  simple  truth.  The  whites  of  the  South 
were  practically  a  unit  in  regard  to  two  things: — First,  the 
right  of  a  people  to  elect  not  only  their  own  form  of  gov- 
ernment but  also  their  OM'n  national  affiliations,  and,  second, 
the  necessity  of  perpetuating  slavery  as  an  institution.  In 
this  latter  respect  they  have  always  been  regarded  by  the 
91 


92  ETO  H  T  T-  NINE. 

North  as  acting  so  inconsistently  with  what  was  termed 
their  "  interests  "  that  the  theory  of  phenomenal  ignorance 
and  absolute  subservience  has  been  invented  to  account 
for  it. 

The  key  to  the  error  may,  perhaps,  be  found  in  the 
word  '^  interest."  To  the  North  it  means  always  dollars 
and  cents.  Their  idea  of  human  nature  is,  that  it  is 
controlled  entirely  by  economic  motives.  Their  own  hos- 
tility to  slavery  was  largely  due  to  their  antipatJiy  for,  and 
dread  of  competition  with,  unpaid  labor.  Their  favorite 
theory  Avas  that  the  white  man  of  the  South  would  be  ''  bet- 
ter off  " — that  is,  would  be  able  to  earn  more  money  and 
improve  his  financial  condition  more  easily — if  slavery  did 
not  exist,  and  no  little  part  of  their  attention  was  given  to 
demonstrating  this  fact  by  comparative  statistics  showing 
the  growth  and  wealth  of  contrasted  states. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  this  was  no  new  doctrine  to 
the  Southern  mind.  If  our  common  peoj)le  were  not  so 
apt  in  figures  as  their  Yankee  brethren,  they  knew  all  about 
slavery,  and  had  acquired  their  knowledge  not  by  theory 
but  from  experience.  Instead  of  being  ignorant  they  were, 
in  this  resjject,  a  tliousand  times  better  informed  than  their 
Northern  compeers.  If  the  white  majority  of  the  South 
had  no  proprietary  interest  in  the  slave,  each  and  every  one 
of  them  liad  a  distinct  and  individual  interest  in  the  negro, 
which  no  argument  could  remove  and  no  sophistry  ob- 
scure. 


EIGHTY-NINE.  Qig 

The  "  pore- white,"  whether  educated  or  ignorant,  hated 
slavery.  He  understood  perfectly  well  that  the  institution 
was  his  economic  enemy.  On  the  other  hand,  however,  he 
hated  the  negro  as  a  race — a  class,  a  social  force — even  more. 
In  one  sense  he  recognized  the  injustice  of  slavery  ;  but  the 
argument  of  the  Northern  abolitionist,  based  as  it  was  on 
the  idea  of  injustice  to  the  negro,  fell  on  deaf  ears  when  ad- 
dressed to  him.  He  had  no  "interest"  in  the  negro  indi- 
vidually or  collectively,  and  no  regard  for  his  rights. 
Indeed,  the  hostility  of  the  non-slaveholding  class  to 
slavery  was  based  very  largely  on  the  fact  that  it  protected 
and  perpetuated  the  negro  i-ace  among  us. 

"  If  there  hadn't  been  no  slavery,  there  wouldn't  have 
been  no  niggers,"  was  my  grandmother's  dogmatic  asser- 
tion. "  It's  the  nigger  that  makes  all  the  trouble  in  the 
country.  Ye  see,"  she  used  to  declare,  "ever}'  nigger  jest 
spiles  two  white  men — one  he  crowds  out  till  he  can't  git 
nothing  to  do  an'  the  other  he  puffs  up  till  he  won't  do 
nothing  and  so  ain't  no  'count." 

A  better  statement  of  the  evil  effects  of  slavery  on  the 
white  man  was  never  formulated.  The  Northern  doctrin- 
aires, who  fulminated  on  the  subject  for  half  a  century,  saw 
but  one  side  of  this  influence  and  that  not  half  so  clearly 
as  it  impressed  itself  on  the  mind  of  the  poor-white  of  the 
South.  He  went  beyond  even  the  Abolitionist  in  his 
detestation  of  slavery,  not  because  it  was  slavery  nor 
because  of  its  injustice  to  the  slave,  but  because  it  was 


94  EIGHTY-NINE. 

an  injustice  to  himself.  Not  merely  in  a  pecuniary  form 
did  he  feel  the  sting  of  this  great  wrong,  but  in  a  sense  a 
thousand  times  more  bitter  and  malign.  He  felt  that  it 
had  introduced,  nourished  and  protected  an  alien  and  un- 
assimilable  element  into  our  civilization — an  clement  that 
ate  the  bread  his  hands  should  have  been  permitted  to  earn. 
Slavery  had  imported  the  African  and  established  him 
upon  our  shores.  Relieved  of  the  burdens  of  life  and 
nourished  with  a  care  that  a  direct  interest  in  his  physical 
Avelfare  stimulated,  he  had  increased  in  numbers  with  a 
rapidity  unequalled  in  history.  Even  with  the  odds  of 
immigration  against  him,  he  had  greatly  outstripped  the 
whites  in  comparative  growth  in  all  the  older  states  of  the 
South.  Separated  from  the  whites  by  the  impassable  gulf 
of  distinctive  race  and  color,  the  slaves  became  a  force 
which,  allied  with  the  power  of  capital  invested  in  them, 
threatened  not  only  the  pecuniary  interest  of  the  non- 
slaveholding  class,  but  even  its  liberties  and  its  existence. 
Like  all  fictitious  rights,  slavery  crept  into  our  South- 
ern republics  under  the  plea  of  subserving  the  public  wel- 
fare. The  New  World  offered  an  apparently  inexhaustible 
field  of  labor.  The  very  fertility  which  gave  promise  of 
rich  returns  enhanced  the  antecedent  toil  on  which  its 
prosperity  was  conditioned.  The  slaves  at  the  outset  were 
few  ;  the  environments  of  our  life  primeval.  No  one 
dreamed  that  labor  would  become  a  drug  and  opportunity 
a  thing  so  rare,  that  men  would  be  compelled  to  beg  the 


EIGHTY-NINE.  95 

privilege  of  using  hand  or  brain  in  self-support.  They 
were  brought  in  to  fell  the  forest,  to  clear  the  soil  and  do  the 
Avork  there  were  not  -white  hands  enough  to  perform.  They 
were  expected  to  be  the  purveyors  and  subservers  of  our 
new  civilization  and  then  to  die — to  disappear  as  so  many 
peoples  have  before  the  face  of  our  boastful  modern  benefi- 
cence and  all-embracing  charity. 

The  general  prosperity  was  to  be  promoted  by  increas- 
ing the  area  in  cultivation  and  permitting  the  white  man 
to  devote  his  energies  to  more  profitable  and  congenial  oc- 
cupations. Under  this  specious  claim  slavery  obtained  a 
status  that  enabled  it  finally  to  defy  the  law.  When  it 
came  to  prove  itself  a  curse  rather  than  a  blessing  to  the 
people,  not  only  the  plea  of  vested  right,  but  a  threat  of 
public  peril,  was  preferred  in  its  behalf.  The  legal  recog- 
nition it  had  with  difficulty  secured  under  the  claim,  not 
of  right  but  of  public  advantage,  was  now  urged  as  an 
indeterminable  license  by  which  investments  in  slaves  were 
made  forever  sacred  from  impairment  by  public  enactment. 

The  sis  hundred  thousand  slaveholders  of  the  South 
would  have  been  impotent  enough  against  her  seven  mil- 
lions of  free  men  but  for  this  citadel  of  legal  privilege  and 
the  five  billions  of  dollars  invested  in  slave  property.  The 
power  of  the  institution  lay  in  the  community  of  interest 
which  united  this  privileged  class  and  enabled  it  to  defy 
the  power  of  government  except  when  coupled  with  the 


96  EIGHTY  NINE. 

act  of  restitution.     The  position  Avas  a  strong  one,  and  has 
many  parallels  in  the  history  of  civilization. 

''Let  slavery  be  esttiblished,"  was  its  primal  plea, 
''and  the  public  prosperity  will  be  enhanced.  Slavery  is 
not  a  right  but  a  privilege  to  be  granted  for  the  public  ad- 
vantage. " 

The  privilege  having  been  granted  by  specific  act  in 
several  of  the  colonies  and  by  tacit  permission  in  others,  the 
class  having  a  specific  interest  thus  obtained  cried  out  at 
once  : 

"  This  is  our  vested  right.  The  public  welfare  has 
nothing  to  do  with  our  privilege.  AVe  have  the  right  to 
do  as  we  will  with  our  own  and  nothing  must  be  done  to 
impair  our  advantage  over  our  fellows.  Ours  has  become 
a  class  interest  the  value  of  which  the  public  is  bound  to 
protect.  However  perilous  slavery  may  be  to  the  common 
weal/ we  are  innocent  investors  in  a  business  recognized  by 
law  and  therefore  forever  sacred  from  legal  interference.^' 

This  is  the  universal  history  of  legal  privilege.  At 
first  it  professes  to  consider  only  the  public  welfare  ;  then 
it  pleads  license  or  prescriptive  right  in  defiance  of  public 
good. 

Whenever  sjsecial  opportunity,  excej^tional  power  or 
special  immunity  are  granted  to  individuals  or  classes  in 
vague  or  indeterminate  form,  they  are  certain  to  become 
bonds  which  can  only  be  broken  by  long  and  eventful  strug- 
gle— perhaps  knots  which  only  the  sword  can  sunder. 


EIGHTY   NINK.  97 

The  contest  betv/een  the  slave  power  and  the  individ- 
ual right  of  the  non-slaveholding  white  man  at  the  South 
is  a  curious  cliapter  in  our  history.  In  every  state  the  in- 
stinct of  the  freeman  was  constantly  pressing  the  privilege 
of  the  master.  To  the  l^orthern  mind  the  advantage 
seemed  always  to  be  on  the  part  of  the  privileged  class. 
The  North  thought  only  of  the  slave  and  his  relations  to 
freedom.  Our  people  never  once  considered  this.  It 
was  only  tlie  right  and  interest  of  the  white  man  they 
had  in  view.  Of  tlie  slave  they  only  thought  us  an  inimi- 
cal force.  The  only  purpose  of  legislating  in  regard  to  him 
was  to  keep  him  from  injuring  others.  He  was  one-third 
— in  certain  limited  areas,  one  half — of  our  population,  yet 
in  three-quarters  of  a  century  not  a  single  act  designed 
for  his  betterment  or  advantage  can  be  found  on  the  statute 
book  of  any  southern  state.  We  legislated  to  limit  his  privi- 
leges, to  restrict  his  intelligence,  to  guard  against  his  ma-s- 
ter's  weak  indulgence,  to  bar  the  presum})tion  of  freedom 
and  prevent  the  extinction  of  racial  disabilities  by  admix- 
ture of  blood  ;  but  not  one  line  or  sentence  or  syllable  de- 
signed to  render  his  estate  more  tolerable  or  to  facilitate  his 
elevation  to  a  higher  plane  of  development,  can  be  found 
in  our  legislation.  No  such  thing  occurred  to  us  as  de- 
sirable. The  negi'o  being  among  us,  we  were  simjily  im- 
pelled to  protect  the  white  race  against  his  natural  forces. 

Yet  the  power  of  the  slaveholders,  as  a  class,  was  con- 
stantly being  circumscribed.     Specific  privilege  was  limit- 


98  EIGHTY. NINE. 

ed,  taxation  was  more  rigorously  imposed,  the  pecuniary 
qualifications  of  officers  and  electors  were  gradually  re- 
duced, government  was  localized  and  power  distributed. 
The  conflict  was  a  slow,  and  might  have  been  an  unending 
one,  but  for  the  events  which  occurred.  Yet  such  as  it 
was,  it  was  a  fight  for  liberty— not  the  "irrepressible  con- 
flict" for  ihQ  slave's  liberty,  of  which  the  Xorth  prated  so 
loudly,  but  a  struggle  for  the  fuller  liberty  and  broader 
opportunity  of  the  white  race. 

There  were  three  considerations  that  prevented  the 
non-slaveholding  white  men  of  the  South  from  combining 
for  its  destruction.  None  of  these  arose  from  any  lack  of 
knowledge  of  established  facts  or  economic  principles. 
Some  of  them  were  based  on  social  theories,  which  may 
have  been  false,  but  have  not  yet  been  proved  untrue. 

The  first  of  these  influences  was  the  fact  that  the 
slaveholding  class,  although  an  aristocracy  existing  by  vir- 
tue of  legal  privilege,  was  free  and  flexible  in  its  character. 
No  impassable  barrier  marked  its  limits.  Any  one  might 
come  within  its  confines  who  was  able  to  own  a  slave.  It 
was  a  purchasable  patent  of  nobility  which,  instead  of 
losing  its  value  as  the  number  of  its  possessors  increased, 
became  all  the  more  valuable  with  each  accession  to  their 
ranks.  Because  of  this  fact,  it  may  be  said  that  all  the 
more  active  and  aggressive  elements  of  the  non-slavehold- 
ing  class  were,  in  effect,  prospective  owners  of  slaves.  They 
hoped  either  to  be  able  to  own  slaves  themselves  or  that 


ETGHTT-NINE.  99 

their  children  wonld  do  so.  It  was  the  object  of  a  reasona- 
ble and  proper  ambition,  and,  of  course,  those  who  possessed 
it  were  affected  by  the  same  feeling  of  self-interest  that  an- 
imated the  actual  masters.  They  had  no  motive  to  limit 
detrimentally  the  privilege  they  aspired  to  enjoy. 

In  the  same  manner  and  for  the  same  reason  the  self- 
supporting  people  of  the  North  failed  to  limit  and  restrain 
the  power  of  aggregated  capital  and  combined  monopolj'^, 
by  which  men  were  made  millionaires  a  hundred  times  over 
by  the  unlawful  gains  they  wrung  from  those  whose  inter- 
ests were  subjected  to  their  control  as  absolutely  as  the 
slave's  labor  was  under  the  control  of  the  master.  Every 
enterprising  man  hoped  some  time  to  be  a  millionaire,  or  at 
least  to  see  his  son  become  one,  through  the  use  of  the  same 
agencies.  They  did  not  pretend  that  the  means  employed 
were  right  or  proper  ones,  but  they  separated  business  from 
morals  and  declared  that  it  was  not  a  question  of  right  and 
wrong,  but  a  simple  matter  of  ''^smartness."  The  man 
who  was  "  smart"  enough  to  overreach  his  fellows  and  put 
into  his  own  pocket  what  should  rightfully  be  distributed 
to  others,  was  free  to  enter  the  ranks  of  the  millionaire  aris- 
tocracy of  the  North— an  aristocracy  more  rapacious,  re- 
lentless and  oppressive  than  slavery  ever  was  and  a  hundred 
times  more  detrimental  to  the  interest  of  the  masses.  Six 
hundred  thousand  men  wielded  the  power  of  slavery  with 
its  five  billion  dollars  of  actual  investment  in  defiance  of 
the  real  interest  of  seven  or  eight  millions  of  freemen. 


100  EIGHTY  NINE. 

But  at  the  North  the  aristocracy  of  legal  privilege,  which 
had  grown  out  of  a  purelj'  mercenary  aspiration,  was  much 
more  alarming.  Less  than  one  hundred  men — aye,  less  than 
ten — controlled  with  absolute  autocratic  power  the  four 
billions  of  actual  investment  and  the  four  billions  of  abso- 
lute "  water  ^'  which  represented  the  great  transportation 
monopoly.  Of  the  six  hundred  millions  of  dollars  these 
men  amassed  for  themselves,  nine  dollars  out  of  every  ten 
Avere  the  fruit  of  robbery  as  flagrant  as  the  master's  ravish- 
ment of  the  slave's  toil — robbery,  not  of  a  servile  race  or 
by  mere  oppression  of  the  laborer,  but  robbery  of  the  best 
and  bravest,  the  most  intelligent  and  most  enterprising  of 
that  land  of  boasted  intelligence  and  liberty,  robbery  of  the 
jjroducer  and  consumer,  robbery  of  the  buyer  and  seller, 
of  the  shijjper  and  receiver,  of  the  farmer  of  the  west  and 
the  manufacturer  of  the  east,  of  every  one  who  burned  a 
pound  of  coal  or  ate  an  ounce  of  bread — nay,  even  robbery 
of  their  own  allies  and  associates,  the  stockholders  and  co- 
investors  who  hoped  (and  by  the  honor  common  among 
thieves  were  entitled)  to  share  the  profits  of  the  privileges 
which  the  state  had  conferred  upon  them. 

These  enormous  fortunes  were  accumulated  by  the 
open,  notorious  and  acknowledged  spoliation  of  thirty  mil- 
lions of  the  most  intelligent  and  conscientious  freemen  the 
world  has  ever  seen,  who  were  induced,  first,  to  prepare 
the  instrument  for  their  own  subjugation  and  then  to  pro- 
tect and  strengthen  the  power  thus  conferred,  because  each 


EIGHTY-NINE.  101 

hoped,  in  oue  way  and  another,  by  himself  or  his  offspring, 
to  take  advantage  of  this  machinery  to  lift  himself  above 
his  fellows.  They  did  not  regard  the  privileges  by  which 
Gonld,  Vanderbilt  and  their  fellows  were  enabled  to  ac- 
cumnlate  such  enormous  fortunes,  as  especially  sacred  ;  but 
every  one  thought  either  that  he  might  somehow  be  bene- 
fitted by  the  same  agencies  himself  or  that  perchance  he 
had  among  his  domestic  brood  the  tinancial  magnate  of  the 
future,  who  would  wield  these  very  agencies  so  as  to  eclipse 
all  past  magnificence. 

It  ought  not  to  have  been  a  hard  thing  for  such  a  people 
to  understand  why  the  more  intelligent  and  enterprising  of 
the  Southern  non-slaveholders  were  not  only  in  favor  of 
slavery  but  willing  to  fight  for  its  perpetuation. 

The  possible  baton  in  his  knapsack  made  the  French 
soldier  of  Napoleon's  wars  the  most  patient  of  hardship 
and  amenable  to  discipline  that  the  world  has  ever  known. 
The  possible  million  in  some  future  steal  made  the  in- 
telligent thirty  millions  of  the  north  the  most  docile  and 
subservient  of  slaves.  Their  pity  for  the  negro  proved  to 
be  only  sympathy  with  his  lack  of  opportunity.  If  he  had 
had  a  chance  to  enslave  as  well  as  to  be  enslaved,  they 
would  probably  never  have  been  animated  with  such  fiery 
zeal  against  an  institution  at  least  as  beneficent  m  its  char- 
acter and  results  as  their  own  system  of  financial  bucca- 
neering. 

But  if  the  non-slaveholder  of  the  South  was  linked  to 


102  EIGHTY. NINE. 

slavery  by  his  aspirations  and  inclined  to  battle  for  the  privi- 
lege of  owning  a  slave,  should  he  desire  to  do  so,  he  was 
even  more  distinctly  arrayed  against  its  extermination  both 
by  his  fear  and  by  his  pride.  The  line  between  slavery 
and  freedom  was  the  boundary  of  race.  It  is  true  the  slave 
was  in  some  cases  as  white  as  the  master,  but  the  presump- 
tion of  freedom  went  always  with  the  white  skin,  and 
the  law  in  such  case  required  proof  to  establish  the  condi- 
tion of  servitude.  On  the  other  side  of  the  line  all  this 
was  reversed.  The  presumption  of  bondage  attached  to  the 
fact  of  color,  and  specific  proof  was  required  to  establish 
freedom.  To  make  the  negro  free  was  to  abolish  this  dis- 
tinction. "  A  white  man  would  be  no  better  than  a  nigger, 
if  the  nigger  had  all  a  white  man's  rights"  was  the  univer- 
sal and  conclusive  argument  against  the  continuance  of 
federal  power  in  those  states,  under  an  administration  i^ro- 
fessedly  hostile  to  slavery. 

There  was,  too,  a  horror  of  race  admixture  which  has 
always  been  ridiculed  by  the  Xorth  because  of  its  seeming 
inconsistency.  It  was  hardy  deemed  an  immorality  for 
white  blood  to  be  mingled  with  the  servile  current  in  the 
veins  of  a  slave.  It  may  be  questioned  if  a  single  family 
of  slave  owners  could  be  found  who  had  not  cousins  of  very 
close  degree  among  their  slaves.  This  was  so  frequent  as 
to  occasion  no  remark  except,  now  and  then,  in  a  case  of 
great  cruelty  being  perpetrated  upon  them.  The  non- 
slaveholder  took  the  same  lenient  view  of  such  relations ; 


EIGHTY-NINE.  103 

but  any  approach  to  reversing  this  rule  and  corrupting 
white  blood  with  a  servile  admixture  was  not  to  be  toler- 
ated— the  mere  suspicion  produced  instant  and  ineffaceable 
degradation.  The  idea  of  legitimizing  such  relations 
awakened  a  storm  of  wrath  that  spared  neither  sex  nor 
race.  The  master  might  sell  his  own  flesh  and  blood  with- 
out remark,  but  if  he  attempted  to  free  and  educate  them, 
he  aAvakened  at  once  a  universal  feeling  of  resentment. 
The  people  of  the  South  have  always  believed  that  such 
legitimized  race  admixture  would  be  an  inevitable  result  of 
equal  civil  and  political  privilege.  As  long  as  there  is  a  dis- 
tinction of  privilege  they  feel  safe  ;  beyond  that  limit  they 
fear  irremediable  corruption  of  blood. 

This  feeling  has  been  termed  instinct,  prejudice,  folly. 
It  is  claimed  to  be  the  fruit  of  slavery,  yet  it  seems  to  be 
inherent  in  all  Anglo-Saxon  peoples  at  least.  K'o  negro, 
known  and  recognized  as  such,  has  ever  held  a  social 
position  in  any  part  of  what  lately  constituted  the  United 
States,  at  all  on  a  par  with  the  whites,  or  been  regarded  as  a 
legitimate  part  of  white  society.  This  is  just  as  true  of 
the  North  as  of  the  South. 

The  same  seems  to  be  true  of  our  English  cousins.  A 
left-handed  marriage  with  an  Indian  woman  was  once 
thought  a  very  reasonable  preparation  for  high  rank  in  the 
East  Indian  service,  but  no  English  woman  has  stepped 
across  the  line  of  color  and  afterwards  held  a  recognized  place 
in  English  society.     It  is  not  strange,  therefore,  that  this 


104  EIGHTY. NINE. 

singular  race  apprehension,  joined  with  the  other  causes 
mentioned,  should  have  made  the  South  practically  a  unit 
in  favor  of  secession.  .Some  of  the  mountain  regions,  where 
there  were  few  slaves  and  the  poor-white's  hatred  of  the 
institution  overcame  his  fear  of  race  aggression,  adhered  to 
the  union.  As  soon  as  the  war  ended,  however,  and  this 
class  beheld  the  result  in  the  emancipation  and  enfranchise- 
ment of  the  negro,  they  became  the  most  bitter  and  violent 
enemies,  not  only  of  that  race,  but  of  all  who  favored  its 
elevation.  So  malignant  had  this  feeling  grown  toward 
the  last  that  I  often  trembled  lest  it  should  break  out  into 
massacre  before  confidence  could  be  restored  by  the  happy 
termination  of  recent  events. 

It  is  these  things  which  the  North  is  too  wise  to  credit, 
and  too  self-confident  to  understand,  that  made  the  white 
people  of  the  South  a  unit  on  the  side  of  the  Confederacy, 
more  compact  and  impenetrable  by  Northern  influence  and 
sentiment  than  any  invaded  people  not  separated  by  a  dis- 
tinct language  ever  was  before.  It  is  these  very  influences 
which  kept  it  "  solid  "  through  almost  a  generation  of  hard- 
ship, oppression  and  temptation  and  finally  gave  it  an 
unparalleled  triumph  over  the  enemies  who  laughed  at 
its  sincerity,  mocked  at  its  jirotests  and  prated  of  its 
"■'interests." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

It  was  these  influences  that  crowded  tlie  ranks  of  the 
Confederate  army  with  the  old  and  the  young,  the  rich  and 
the  poor  of  the  South,  until  a  larger  proportion  of  her  free- 
Hmen  were  arrayed  in  her  defence  than  any  nation  of  modern 
times  has  ever  sent  to  battle.  When  the  limit  had  been 
reached  and  there  were  literally  no  more  between  the  cra- 
dle and  the  grave  to  answer  to  her  summons — when  genius 
and  devotion  had  done  their  utmost — the  enemy  began  to 
prevail.  The  weight  of  overwhelming  numbers  then  only 
pushed  back  the  fainting  legions.  By  the  third  midsummer 
after  my  father's  departure  the  thunder  of  the  enemy's  guns 
broke  upon  us  at  Ryalmont.  For  a  year  the  tide  of  battle 
had  been  drawing  nearer  and  nearer.  At  every  interven- 
ing obstacle  we  had  looked,  confidently  but  vainly,  for  it 
to  be  stayed.  It  had  crept  inch  by  inch  from  the  banks  of 
the  Ohio,  across  the  Cumberland  and  the  Tennessee,  and 
into  the  mountains  that  buttressed  the  heart  of  the  Con- 
federacy. 

For  a  month  our  valley  had  been  a  part  of  the  seat  of 
war.  The  slaves,  all  but  the  women,  children  and  old 
men,  had  been  impressed  for  work  on  the  entrenchments. 
Back  of  the  army  of  white  men  who  fought  our  battles  was 
the  army  of  colored  men  who  prepared  the  defences  of  the 
105 


106  EIGHTY  NINE. 

Confederacy.  Every  crest  was  crowned  with  its  line  of 
works.  That  which  sheltered  our  army  at  this  time  had 
been  erected  six  months  before  in  prescient  anticipation  of 
tlie  very  thing  that  finally  occurred. 

I  had  watched  the  erection  of  these  works  with  great 
interest,  riding  back  and  fortli  through  the  intricacies  of 
Ryal's  Pass,  to  observe  their  progress.  I  wondered  that  no 
special  attention  was  given  to  the  protection  of  its  outlet, 
and  finally  ventured  to  call  the  attention  of  the  officer 
in  charge  to  it.  My  suggestion  met  the  fate  so  often 
accorded  the  advice  of  the  intermeddler.  It  was  not  only 
disregarded  but  sneered  at  as  the  notion  of  a  country  strip- 
ling. The  officer  intimated  that  I  might  do  to  command 
"twenty  niggers  •' — the  number  required  to  exempt  from 
conscription — but  had  better  not  try  to  run  the  army  of 
Northern  Georgia.  I  was  too  shame-smitten  to  resent  the 
insult.  More  than  once,  after  the  enemy  had  crossed  the 
mountain  range  beyond,  I  crept  through  the  neglected  pass 
and  watched  their  camp-fires.  It  was  a  curious  sensation, 
looking  down  from  my  perch  among  the  laurel-crested 
crags  upon  the  camp  of  the  invaders. 

Among  the  few  slaves  who  had  been  left  in  the  valley 
was  Jack.  I  hardly  know  how  he  had  escaped  impress- 
ment. He  was  taken  once  to  work  in  the  government 
gunshops,  but  after  a  few  weeks  returned  without  my  re- 
quest. Upon  inquiry  it  was  learned  that  he  seemed  to  have 
no  capacity  for  such  work,  having  destroyed  more  than  his 


EIOHTT-NINE.  107 

labor  was  worth.  Knowing  his  skill,  we  were  surprised  at 
this,  and  though  he  was  not  punished  he  was  severely  re- 
buked. Upon  consultation  with  the  officer  in  charge  I 
found  him  fully  convinced  of  Jack^s  willingness  and  thor- 
oughly satisfied  of  his  stupidity.  He  evidently  pitied  me 
for  having  supposed  him  capable  of  such  Avork. 

"It  is  something  different  from  hanging  a  plantation 
gate,"  he  said,  with  a  patronizing  smile. 

I  was  confident  that  Jack  had  shirked,  but  after  this 
did  not  insist  on  his  return,  although  with  our  reduced  in- 
come the  hire  he  would  have  received  was  a  thing  not  un- 
worthy of  consideration.  Skilled  workmen  were  scarce  in 
the  Confederacy,  and  having  the  management  of  our  lim- 
ited resources,  I  felt  that  Jack  was  not  acting  well  in  re- 
fusing his  help  at  such  a  crisis,  on  account  of  mere  home- 
sickness. "We  did  not  think  of  attributing  his  disinclina- 
tion to  any  other  cause. 

The  valley  was  full  of  soldiers.  The  sick  and  wounded 
who  were  brought  from  the  front  passed  constantly 
along  the  road  below  the  house.  Though  there  were 
no  troops  stationed  in  that  part  of  the  valley  there  was 
a  division  encamped  a  short  distance  below,  to  guard  a 
pass  that  led  to  the  southward.  This  was  the  situation 
when  fighting  began  on  the  other  side  of  the  moun- 
tain. Despite  our  alarm,  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
to  go  through  the  gap  and  see  what  I  might  of  the  engage- 
ment.    Hiding  my  horse  in  a  thicket,  I  clambered  up  the 


108  EIGHT  J    NINE 

sharp  side  of  the  gleu  until  I  reached  a  position  where, 
screened  from  observation  by  the  undergrowth,  I  saw  the 
enemy  beaten  back  again  and  again  from  the  line  of  our 
works.  It  was  dark  when  I  returned.  The  news  of  our 
victory  had  preceded  me.  The  enemy  had  been  hurled 
back  triumphantly  along  our  entire  front.  AVhat  exulta- 
tion filled  our  people's  hearts  I  Bonfires  were  lighted  in 
the  city's  streets  within  sound  of  the  enemy's  occasional 
guns.  My  mother  was  jubilant.  My  grandmother  even 
was  hopeful  that  the  end  had  come. 

Jack  asked  anxiously  about  the  result.  His  solicitude 
touched  me,  and  I  told  him  all  that  I  had  heard,  assuring 
him  that  the  Yankee  army  was  in  full  retreat  and  would  be 
heard  of  no  more  in  that  region.  I  did  not  once  suspect 
the  good  fellow's  sincerity.  Perhaps  if  I  had  not  been  an 
Elspre,  I  should. 

The  Elspres  were  Huguenots  who  had  come  over  to 
South  Carolina  at  the  King's  expense  in  1679.  With  them 
slavery  had  been  a  patriarchal  institution.  It  was  their 
boast  that  an  Elspre  sometimes  bought,  but  never  sold,  a 
slave.  There  had  never  been  a  runaway  among  their  servants, 
and  blows  had  been  so  rare  that  the  influence  of  the  family 
was  accounted  derogatory  to  good  discipline  in  the  region 
Avhere  they  lived.  Yet  they  were  thrifty  planters  and  very 
proud  of  the  efficiency  of  the  force  they  worked.  My 
mother  had  the  characteristics  of  her  people,  and  as  my 
father  really  left  the  control  of  her  property  in  her  own 


EIGHTY-NINE.  109 

hands,  the  Elspre  rule  had  extended  to  our  family,  so  that 
such  a  thing  as  lack  of  confidence  in  a  slave  was  almost  un- 
known with  us. 

Jack  had  been  bought  by  my  mother's  father  because 
Vicey,  my  mother's  maid,  had  fallen  violently  in  love  with 
him.  When  we  removed  to  the  Grove,  Vicey  had  remained 
with  her  husband  and  children  at  Eyalmont.  On  our  re- 
turn she  had  resumed  her  former  duties.  Between  mistress 
and  maid  there  was  a  very  warm  attachment,  my  mother 
often  remarking  that  Vicey  seemed  more  like  a  companion 
than  a  servant.  She  was  very  fair,  of  a  sweet  and  gentle 
disposition,  and  beloved  by  us  all  except  my  grandmother, 
who  always  insisted  that  she  "  could  not  abide  a  nigger 
that  hadn't  color  enough  to  show."  As  she  had  been  my 
nurse  I  was  greatly  attached  to  her.  Despite  her  gentle- 
ness she  had  unusual  strength  of  character,  and  it  was  a 
standing  jest  in  the  family  that  one  so  strong  and  fair 
should  have  become  infatuated  with  Jack,  who  was  ac- 
counted weak  and  petulant  as  well  as  insignificant  in  ap- 
pearance. But  there  was  no  doubt  of  their  sincere  attach- 
ment for  each  other,  and  it  could  not  be  deuied  that  the 
ingenious  fellow  had  surrounded  her  with  comforts  not  to 
be  found  in  any  other  slave  cabin  in  that  region.  It  was 
no  wonder  she  was  devoted  to  my  mothei",  to  whose  favor 
she  owed  so  much. 

It  was  the  second  night  after  the  battle.  The  full 
moon  of  June  was  looking  into  the  window  yonder,  when 


no  EIGHTY-NINE. 

there  came  a  tap  upon  the  casement  and  an  anxious  voice 
just  raised  above  a  whisj)er  called  : 

"MarseEy'l!     Marse  Ry'l  !  " 

I  sprang  up  and  ran  to  the  window.  It  was  Vicey. 
She  was  standing  under  the  apple-tree,  which  has  since 
grown  so  that  its  arms  reach  clean  across  the  frame.  It 
only  touched  the  side  then.  She  was  in  the  shadow,  but 
the  moonlight  came  through  a  break  in  the  leafy  screen 
and  fell  upon  her  face.  I  saw  it  was  pale  and  full  of  ap- 
prehension. 

"  The  Yankees  is  coming,  Marse  Ey'l  I" 

I  wonder  it  did  not  occur  to  me  as  strange  that  she 
should  make  this  whispered  announcement  to  me,  instead 
of  going  to  my  mother's  room.  If  I  thought  of  it  at  all, 
it  was  only  that  she  feared  to  alarm  her  mistress,  for  the 
words  brought  a  terrible  revulsion  after  the  exaltation  of 
victory.     I  think  my  voice  must  have  trembled  as  I  asked: 

''Where?" 

"Through  the  Pass,  Marse  Ry'l." 

"  The  Pass,"  at  Eyalmont,  meant  the  gap  named  after 
my  ancestor.  The  mouth  of  it  lay  plain  before  me,  the  great 
jaws,  black  with  shadow,  but  the  smooth  jDlateau  on  Avhich 
it  opened  fair  and  clear  in  the  white  moonlight,  cut  in  a 
wavering  line  by  the  sharp  narrow  bed  of  the  mountain 
torrent  that  had  made  its  way  through  the  debris  of  a 
mightier  tide  which  once  flowed  through  the  Pass. 

I  looked  in  vain  for  the  blue-clad  forms  that  had  be- 


EIGHTY. NINE.  HI 

come  familiar  to  my  eyes  in  the  valley  beyond.  Their  ab- 
sence, however,  did  not  incline  me  to  doubt.  I  think  I 
had  always  expected  that  what  might  so  easily  be  done 
would  be  done,  so  that  the  announcement  awoke  no  sur- 
prise. Strangely  enough,  I  seemed  just  then  to  be  oblivi- 
ous to  everything  except  the  fact  that  my  favorite  mare, 
Jessica,  was  tethered  in  a  glen  that  led  out  of  the  Pass  not 
far  from  the  entrance.  She  had  been  hidden  there  for  a 
long  time  to  avoid  theft  or  impressment  for  the  public  ser- 
vice. A  somewhat  aged  carriage  horse  and  a  single  mule 
were  the  only  working  stock  we  had  been  able  to  keep  at 
Ryalmont.  What  was  not  impressed  had  been  stolen,  and 
the  presence  of  the  army  made  recovery  impossible.  I  was 
anxious  to  save  the  mare,  which  was  not  only  a  favorite 
but  a  present  from  my  grandfather  Elspre.  Only  Jack 
knew  where  she  was  hidden. 

"  I  must  save  Jessica,"  I  said,  as  I  turned  away  from 
the  window  and  began  to  hurry  on  my  clothes. 

"  You  needn't  be  troubled  'bout  de  mar',  Marse  Ry'l. 
She's  here  wid  de  saddle  all  on." 

"  Here  ?    Who  brought  her  ?  " 

"Jack." 

I  finished  dressing  and  sj)rang  through  the  window. 
Standing  beside  the  girl  I  could  see  Jessica  tied  to  an  over- 
hanging limb  a  few  stejjs  away.  Again  my  eyes  scanned 
the  opening  of  the  Pass. 

"  What  makes  you  think  they  are  coming,  Vicey  ?  "  I 


112  EIGHTY. NINE. 

asked,  beginning  for  the  first  time  to  doubt  her  words.  I 
held  my  breath  and  listened. 

"  Jack  tole  me  so," — doggedly. 

''  How  did  he  find  out  ?  " 

"  Don't  know.     Seed  ^em  I  reckon," — carelessly. 

"  Has  he  been  across  T' — through  the  Pass,  I  meant. 

"  S'pose  so.  Anyhow  he  said  they'd  be  here  long  'bout 
daylight." 

"  He  hurried  back  to  save  Jessica  and  give  the  alarm, 
did  he  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  so,  Mahster,"  answered  Vicey,  turning  away 
her  head.     "  He  geared  up  the  wagon,  too." 

"  That  was  thoughtful  of  hira.  Jack's  a  good  boy  ;" — 
then  emphatically,  "  Vicey  !" 

"  Marse  Ey'l."  She  turned  with  an  involuntary  cour- 
tesy as  she  spoke. 

"Jack  thought  they  would  be  here  by  daylight,  did 
he?" 

'"Long  'bout  that  time,  sah.' 

"  Two  hours  yet."  I  said  to  myself,  glancing  at  the 
moon.     "Vicey  ?  " 

"Sah?" 

"Wake  my  mother  as  soon  as  I  am  gone.** 

"Yes,  sah." 

"  Tell  Jack  to  have  everything  ready  to  drive  to  the 
Grove." 


EIGHTY-NINE.  113 

''Jack!'' — alarm  and  surprise  in  her  tone.  '"'But 
Marse  Ey'l— " 

*'  I  know  he  don't  want  to  leave  here,  but  he'll  have 
to." 

''  Ob  co'se — ob  co'se — All  right,  sah,"  hurriedly. 

"  Tell  Jack  to  take  the  family  to  the  Grove  with  their 
clothes  and  valuables — nothing  else.  They  will  have  an 
hour's  start  at  least." 

I  turned  back  into  the  room,  buckled  on  a  revolver, 
slung  over  my  shoulder  a  carbine  my  father  had  sent  me, 
and  was  back  again  in  a  moment.  The  girl  still  stood  un- 
der the  tree. 

"  You  understand,  Vicey.  Wake  my  mother  at  once, 
and  be  sure  they  get  off  in  time — They'd  better  take  some 
provisions,  too — a  ham  or  two  and  a  skillet.  There's  no 
knowing  what  might  happen." 

''Yes,  sah,  but  whar  you  gwine,  Marse  Ry'l  ?" 

She  sprang  forward  and  grasj^ed  my  arm  as  I  leaped 
into  the  saddle. 

"  I  am  going  to  General  Johnston,"  I  replied  through 
my  shut  teeth.  "  We  will  see  if  the  Yankees  are  going  to 
get  through  Ryal's  Pass  without  a  fight." 

"  Oh  Marse  Ey'l !"  exclaimed  the  girl  in  terrified  tones, 
as  she  clung  to  my  arm,  "  'Taint  no  use.  'Taint  no  use. 
Jack—" 

"  It  won't  do  to  send  him,"  I  answered  ;  "I  am  not 


114  EIGHTY. NINE. 

sure  they  will  even  believe  me.  How  many  did  he  say 
there  were  ?" 

''  Oil,  de  whole  army — de  whole  army  !  "  she  exclaimed, 
waving  her  hand  in  tragic  exaggeration. 

"  Of  course,"  I  responded.  '•'  It  would  naturally  be  a 
movement  in  force.  But  if  we  can  get  some  cannon  on  the 
hill  here,  they  can  never  make  their  way  out.  Have  Jack 
get  the  folks  away  quick,  Vicey.  You  and  the  children  go 
with  them.     There'll  be  a  big  fight  right  here." 

I  broke  away  from  her  detaining  grasp  and  galloped 
down  the  winding  carriage-way  to  the  road. 

"  Oh  Marse  Ey'l  !  Marse  Ry'l !  "  I  heard  her  call,  in 
evident  distress  at  my  danger,  as  I  rode  away. 

Her  devotion  touched  me.  I  thought  as  I  sped  along 
the  road  to  the  General's  quarters,  how  self-deceived  or  hypo- 
critical the  Yankees  were  in  pretending  that  these  i^eople 
desired  to  be  free.  I  determined  to  reward  Vicey  for  her 
faithfulness.  If  Jack's  information  should  save  the  army, 
I  wondered  if  the  country  Avould  not  set  him  free.  It  was 
a  curious  unreal  romance  of  the  slave's  devotion  and  the 
master's  gratitude  which  my  fancy  wove  as  Jessica  bore  me 
swiftly  along  the  white  road  in  the  still  morning  moon- 
light. The  mountain  rose  dark  and  silent  on  my  left. 
Through  its  gloomy  recesses  the  foe  were  feeling  their  un- 
certain way.  Off  to  the  right  stretched  the  undulating 
valley  with  its  hosts  of  slumbering  defenders.  Would 
they  Avake   in   time   to   thwart    the    enemy's   design  ?    I 


EIGHTY. NINE,  115 

urged  the  mare  to  her  utmost  speed.  The  trees  that  over- 
hung the  road  flew  by  Hke  winged  messengers  of  fate.  The 
road  with  its  coat  of  white,  dew-laden  dust  muflfled  her 
hoof-strokes  and  sped  backward  beneath  her  feet  like  a 
swift-flowing  river. 

"Halt!" 

A  rifle  barrel  gleamed  in  the  moonlight.  I  drew  rein 
so  quickly  that  the  mare  fell  back  upon  her  haunches. 


CHAPTER  XrV. 

Instead  of  going  to  the  lieadquarters  of  the  command- 
ing general,  accident  liad  brought  me  to  the  tent  of  tlie 
impetuous  leader  of  the  left  wing.  A  few  words  served 
to  explain  the  situation.  Instantly  orders  were  issued  and 
staff  officers  were  soon  galloping  in  every  direction.  A  mo- 
ment afterwards,  bugle  calls  were  sounding  and  regiments 
mustering  in  the  bright  moonlight  all  over  the  valley. 
While  I  was  yet  wondering  at  the  perfectness  of  the  organi- 
zation which  in  an  instant  transforms  a  sleeping  host  into 
an  alert  and  efficient  army,  a  squadron  of  cavalry  dashed 
by  on  its  way  to  the  point  of  danger,  followed  a  moment 
after  by  a  battery  of  artillery,  which  galloped  off  in  the 
same  direction.  Then  came  the  hasty  tramp  of  infantry, 
and  a  regiment  of  Hood's  veterans  filed  past.  The  alarm 
had  extended  over  the  whole  valley,  and  the  men,  with  the 
quick  instinct  of  the  Southern  soldier  forecasting  the  cause 
of  it,  talked  as  they  went  past  of  the  enemy  coming  through 
an  unguarded  pass  on  the  left. 

I  desired  to  return  at  once,  but  in  the  excitement  I  had 
been  forgotten,  and  the  officer  in  whose  charge  I  was  placed 
did  not  feel  at  liberty  to  allow  me  to  go.  It  was  half  an 
hour  before  I  received  permission.  Then  the  road  was 
crowded  with  troops  of  all  arms  hurrying  towards  the  mouth 
116 


EIGHTY. NINE.  117 

of  Eyal's  Pass.  Already  firing  was  heard  in  the  direction  of 
the  glen.  The  information  I  had  given  had  proved  reliable, 
and  redoubled  efforts  were  made  to  push  on  the  struggling 
column  to  meet  the  threatened  attack.  Being  well  acquaint- 
ed with  the  region,  I  pressed  forward  through  by-paths  and 
country- ways,  anxious  for  the  fate  of  Ryalmont. 

As  I  drew  near  the  tumult  grew  fiercer.  The  rattle  of 
musketry  came  closer  and  closer,  and  finally  seemed  to  be 
thrown  out  into  the  open  plain.  The  tale  H  told  was  not 
difficult  to  interpret.  The  foremost  of  our  forces,  advanc- 
ing into  the  glen,  had  encountered  the  head  of  the  Federal 
column,  and  after  a  short  skirmish  had  been  pushed  back- 
ward by  sheer  force  of  numbers,  into  the  half- wooded  re- 
gion at  the  mouth.  When  I  came  in  sight  of  the  Pass 
the  day  was  breaking,  and  blue-coated  hosts  were  debouch- 
ing, regiment  after  regiment,  from  the  mouth  of  the  glen. 
Our  forces  were  closing  in  upon  them,  rapidly  j)ressing  the 
skirmishers  back  upon  the  main  line,  which  was  already 
throwing  up  works  to  protect  the  entrance  to  the  valley  they 
had  so  successfully  secured. 

As  I  came  upon  the  crest  of  a  hill  just  across  the  val- 
ley from  Ryalmont,  I  could  see  a  battery  getting  into  position 
on  the  plateau  above  the  house,  and  caught  the  gleam  of  the 
bayonets  of  its  infantry  support  in  the  shrubbery  that  lined 
the  slope  below.  As  I  crossed  the  intervening  space  the 
roar  of  artillery  joined  the  clatter  of  musketry,  I  could 
hear  the  shells  exploding  in  the  mouth  of  the  Pass,  and  felt 


118  EIGHTY-NINE. 

that  they  were  inflicting  serious  damage  on  the  crowded 
columns  of  the  enemy.  Then  the  sound  of  firing  in  the 
valley  grew  louder,  and  I  knew  that  the  enemy's  infantry 
were  charging  across  the  bottom  to  rid  themselves  of  this 
annoyance  by  capturing  the  plateau  of  Ryalmont.  As  I 
dashed  across  the  road  and  up  the  sharp  slope  to  the  house, 
our  weak  line  was  driven  backward,  and  the  &\\q,v]}  pijig  of 
minie  balls  was  heard  as  they  struck  the  rocky  hillside  or  cut 
the  twigs  overhead.  A  glance  assured  me  that  the  house  was 
deserted,  and,  tethering  my  horse  in  its  shelter,  I  sprang 
down  the  slope  to  the  line  that  was  re-forming  under  the 
cover  of  our  guns,  and,  with  the  carbine  I  carried,  joined 
in  the  fray.  The  fire  of  our  infantry  and  artillery  com- 
bined had  been  too  much  for  the  enemy,  who  had  ceased 
their  pursuit,  though  they  still  held  the  line  of  the  creek  in 
our  front.  They  were  screened  in  this  position  from  the 
fire  of  our  guns  by  the  sharp  second  banks  of  the  rivulet 
which  made  a  natural  breast-high  parapet  before  them  and, 
hidden  from  the  infantry  by  the  fringe  of  willows  that  grew 
along  the  banks,  while  they  could  not  advance,  they  re- 
pulsed without  difficulty  a  counter  charge  which  was  made 
at  once,  and  our  men  were  driven  back  to  the  shelter  of  the 
crest  of  Ryalmont.  Our  artillery  commanded  the  point  of 
debouchment,  but  a  sharp  turn  in  the  Pass  deprived  it  of 
any  effective  range  within.  The  rising  sun  threw  our  gun- 
ners into  sharp  relief,  but  made  the  shadow  about  the 
mouth  of  the  Pass  even  darker  by  comparison.     The  fire 


EIGHTY-NINE.  119 

of  our  guns  was  directed  towards  the  enemy  in  the  valley 
and  those  who  were  throwing  up  works  on  the  opposite 
crest.  For  some  time  no  troops  had  issued  from  the  Pass, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  we  might  be  able  to  overpower  the 
force  which  had  already  made  its  way  through,  before  others 
could  come  to  their  aid.  I  mentioned  this  to  a  veteran 
officer  of  the  line  who  sat  beside  me  under  the  shelter  of  the 
shrubbery  of  Kyalmont. 

"Can't  be  done,"  said  he  with  the  utmost  noncha- 
lance. "  If  we  had  men  enough  and  guns  enough  we  might 
hold  them  back,  but  we  can't  afford  it.  That  Pass  is  like 
a  gateway  in  a  wall  too  high  to  climb — one  man  can  hold 
it  shut,  against  a  dozen  trying  to  force  it  open.  I  expect 
they  are  massing  a  little  way  back  in  the  Pass  now,  ready 
to  come  out  M^hen  they're  wanted.  All  we  can  do  is  to  keep 
them  blocked  up  there  long  enough  to  let  our  army  get 
away,  and  we  may  not  be  able  to  do  even  that.  The  trou- 
ble with  the  Yankees  is  that  there  are  too  many  of  them. 
Look  there,  noAv  ! " 

As  he  spoke,  there  came  a  flash,  another  and  another, 
from  the  black  mouth  of  the  Pass,  and  then  an  angry,  con- 
tinuous roar.  The  enemy  had  placed  their  guns  in  battery 
under  cover  of  the  shadow,  until  they  outnumbered  ours 
upon  the  crest,  two  to  one. 

"  We  may  as  well  get  back  from  here,"  said  the  officer, 
rising  and  giving  the  word  to  his  command.  "  They  will 
rake  this  hill  as  clean  as  if  they  used  a  fine-tooth  comb,  as 


120  EIGIITY-XINE. 

soon  as  they've  done  with  the  artillery,  which  won't  be  long 
at  this  rate." 

Some  of  our  guns  were  evidently  disabled,  as  our  fire 
was  already  slackening  visibly. 

"  Know  whose  house  that  is  ?  "  said  the  officer,  glancing 
admiringly  at  the  quaint  structure  as  we  passed  it  on  our 
way  back. 

"  Indeed  !  "  he  said,  with  a  polite  shrug  in  response  to 
mv  reply,  ''  Fm  sorry  for  it.     Your  horse,  up  there  ?  " 

I  nodded. 

"  Better  get  it  away  while  you  can.'' 

''Why?" 

"  Wliy  ?  Good  God  !  man,  what  do  you  suppose  will 
be  left  of  that  house  when  the  Yankees  stop  firing  ?  " 

'a  don't  know." 

''  Don't  know  '^     Well  I'll  tell  you — two  chimneys." 

"  Why  should  they  destroy  it  ?" 

''Oh/'  said  he,  gaily,  "its  a  way  they  have.  Don't 
you  know  you  can  trace  the  path  of  that  army  clean  to  the 
Ohio  by  the  chimneys  that  are  left  without  any  houses  to 
hold  them  up  ?  They  make  a  good  mark,  you  see,  and  the 
Yankees  are  famous  gunners.  There's  no  denying  that, 
and  I  'spose  it's  fun  to  knock  a  house  to  pieces  a  mile  away. 
Besides  that,  if  left  standing,  it  might  give  shelter  to — rats 
or  rebs,  and  the  Yankees  are  down  on  both.  Here's  the 
artillery,"  he  added  as  a  smoking  gun,  with  a  half  disabled 
team  and  gunners  covered  with  sweat  and  dust  and  some 


EIGHTY-NINE,  1211 

of  them  splashed  with  blood,  came  dashing  down  the  drive. 
"  What  did  I  tell  you  ?  They  don't  mean  to  leave  you  even 
the  chimneys." 

As  he  spoke  a  shell  struck  the  top  of  one  of  the  chim- 
neys, and  an  instant  after  one  came  crashing  through  the 
oak  Avhich  stood  at  the  gable.  Then  there  was  a  sharp  ex- 
plosion, the  rattle  of  glass,  a  neigh  of  agony  from  the  strick- 
en mare  and  a  long  shrill  shriek. 

My  heart  stood  still  with  horror.  Could  it  be  that  the 
family  had  remained  despite  my  warning  ?  Where  was 
Jack,  and  the  wagon  ?  I  remembered  seeing  it  standing 
by  the  roadside  as  I  galloped  away.  The  officer  would  have 
detained  me,  but  I  broke  from  his  grasp  and  sprang  up  the 
path  to  the  house.  The  mare  hobbled  towards  me  holding 
up  a  shattered  fore  leg  with  a  pathetic  whinney.  1  could 
not  take  time  even  to  end  her  misery. 

Tlie  door  was  fastened  within.  I  burst  it  open  and  en- 
tered. Before  the  window,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the 
Pass,  sat  my  grandmother.  Her  head  rested  against  the 
high-backed  chair  and  her  hand  lay  upon  an  open  book  in 
her  lap.  Beside  her  knelt  Vicey,  shrieking  and  shivering 
with  terror.  The  walls  were  scarred  by  pieces  of  the  shell 
which  had  entered  at  the  window.  The  aged  face  was 
peaceful  as  in  slumber.  Only  a  line  of  blood  trickling  out 
from  under  the  grey  hair  told  that  it  was  death. 

I  staggered  to  a  chair  and  sat  gazing  on  the  pale  still 
face.     I  will  not  try  to  picture  my  agony.     Every  instant  I 


122  EIGHTT-NINE. 

expected  to  share  her  fate  and  fervently  hoped  I  might. 
Before  me  all  tlie  time  was  the  thought  of  my  father's  an- 
guish. This  was  the  fruit  of  my  disobedience.  I  saw  it  all. 
When  the  others  fled  she  had  refused  to  go,  trusting,  no 
doubt,  to  her  grey  hairs  to  save  her  from  harm,  perhaps  not 
thinking  or  not  knowing  what  battle  means  to  those  within 
its  verge.  The  faithful  slave  had  remained,  remembering 
her  duty  while  I  had  forgotten  mine.  Now  that  I  had  come, 
the  terrors  of  the  battle  were  too  much  for  her,  however. 
She  fled  and  left  me  with  the  dead,  slain  through  my  neg- 
lect. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  the  battle  lasted.  I  hoped 
each  gun  that  was  fired  would  end  my  woe.  I  sat  gazing 
vacantly  at  the  dead  face  until  the  cannon  ceased  to  roar, 
and  only  scattering  rifle  shots  were  heard  on  the  other  side 
of  the  house.  The  tide  of  battle  was  ebbing  towards  the 
valley.  The  enemy  held  EyaFs  Pass.  My  effort  had  been 
in  vain,  I  had  betrayed  my  father's  trust  and  had  achieved 
— nothing.  I  had  left  my  grandmother  to  die,  while  I 
indulged  a  boyish  impulse  to  attempt  some  great  thing. 
Before  me  was  the  ashen  face  and  beyond  it  my  father's 
reproachful  gaze.     "Why  had  not  death  been  merciful  ! 

The  tramp  of  horses  crunched  along  the  drive.  A 
bugle-call  sounded  almost  under  the  window.  I  heard 
strange  voices  but  did  not  heed  them.  Sabers  rattled  and 
spurs  jingled.  Commands  were  given  in  the  queer  singing 
tones  peculiar  to  the  enemy's  artillery  officers.     A  battery 


EIGHTY-NINE.  123 

was  going  into  position  on  the  very  crest  from  which  ours 
had  been  dislodged.  I  thought  how  it  would  command  the 
whole  sweep  of  the  valley.  The  officers  dismounted  and 
came  towards  the  house. 

"  That's  Xumber  Two's  work,"  I  heard  one  say  in  ex- 
ulting tones.  "  Knocked  the  chimney  to  pieces  the  first 
crack.  Splendid  shot  that.  Told  Sperry  to  drop  it  just 
ten  feet,  and  there  'tis,  through  the  window.  Not  more 
than  five  feet  out  of  the  line  of  the  other.  Good  practice 
that,  eh.  Captain  ?  " 

"  First  rate.     Why  didn't  j^ou  keep  on  ?'' 

"  Keep  on  ?  We'd  have  knocked  this  split-stick  cubby- 
house  to  flinders  in  five  minutes  if  the  General  hadn't  in- 
terfered." 

"  W^hat  made  him  so  particular  ?  They  say  it  belongs 
to  a  rebel  general.     Wonder  if  he  is  an  old  friend  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,  but  I  heard  that  the  nigger 
who  showed  us  this  hole  through  the  mountain,  made  him 
promise  that  neither  the  house  nor  anything  about  it  should 
be  disturbed.  I  suppose  tliat^s  why  he  stoj)ped  us  and  why 
a  guard  must  be  put  round  it  now.  If  he's  given  his  word, 
there  won't  be  a  leaf  disturbed  if  we  all  cHq  of  starvation 
guarding  it." 

"  You  don't  say  ?  Well,  now,  that  was  good  of  the  nig- 
ger, wasn't  it  ?  Blamed  if  I'd  have  been  so  careful  if  any 
one  had  kept  me  in  slavery  all  my  life.  Poor  fellow !  It  was 
poor  pay  he  got  for  it ! " 


124  EIGHTY-NINE. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  voices,  even  if  the  words 
had  not  revealed  the  character  of  the  speakers.  Those 
sharp,  thin,  jerky  tones  could  not  be  found  anywhere  in 
the  South.  The  wave  of  battle  had  swept  on  by  me  and  I 
was  alone  with  my  dead  witliin  the  Federal  lines.  This 
much  I  knew.  It  flashed  upon  my  consciousness  also  that 
Jack  had  piloted  the  Federal  forces  through  Eyal's  Pass, 
and  that  these  men  were  commending  what  they  called 
"  his  faithfulness  ! " 

Despite  the  horror  of  my  surroundings  my  blood  boiled 
with  indignation.  I  strode  to  the  open  door  and  said  with 
scornful  emphasis  : 

"  Gentlemen,  you  have  praised  this  treacherous  slave's 
forbearance.  Will  you  come  and  see  how  he  has  recom- 
pensed his  mistress'  kindness  ?  " 

They  were  fine  looking  men — evidently  of  some  cul- 
ture, though  one  would  never  have  suspected  it  from  their 
intonation.  They  followed  me  silently,  removing  their  hats 
as  they  saw  they  were  in  the  presence  of  death.  One  of 
them,  a  red-bearded  giant  who  wore  myoptic  glasses,  bent 
over  the  page  on  which  the  dead  hand  rested  and  read 
aloud  : 

"  So  the  King  of  the  North  shall  come " 

The  cold  hand  hid  all  that  followed. 

"  I  hope  you  jaaid  the  rascal  well  for  the  blood  he  has 
spilled,"  I  said,  hotly* 

The  officer  gazed  at  me  with  the  hard,  stony  glare  of 


EIGETT-NINE.  125 

the  short-sighted  for  a  moment.  Then  puiting  his  hand 
upon  my  shoulder  he  turned  me  about  so  that  I  faced  the 
shattered  window.     Pointing  through  it  he  said,  sternly  : 

"  That  is  his  reward  ! " 

There  upon  the  ground  not  twenty  yards  away,  lay  the 
form  of  Jack,  his  pinched  face  turned  towards  us  with  the 
grey  j^allor  of  death  upon  it.  The  morning  sunlight  fell 
on  the  great  dark  eyes,  which  seemed  even  yet  to  be  filled 
with  anxious  apprehension. 

I  was  positively  glad  that  the  unfaithful  slave  had  met 
his  fate,  and  felt  a  certain  nearness  to  the  officer,  who  I 
thought  ajjpreciated  my  feeling. 

"  He  did  not  live  long  to  enjoy  the  price  of  his  treach- 
ery," I  said,  almost  exultingly. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  the  price  of  his  treachery '  ?  " 
asked  the  officer. 

''The  money  he  received  for  betraying  his  master/'  I 
answered  in  surprise. 

"  He  received  no  money,"  was  the  cool  reply. 

''  No  ?  Then  why  did  he  do  it  ?  "  My  tone  must  have 
revealed  my  incredulity. 

"  To  give  liberty  to  his  race,"  was  the  solemn  reply. 

"  Well,  he  got  his  liberty,"  I  said,  bitterly.  I  could 
not  avoid  the  sneer. 

"  He  was  so  anxious  lest  those  who  had  been  kind  to 
him  should  suffer  by  his  act,  that  he  crept  up  here  before 
the  firing  was  over,  and  fell  a  victim  to  his  faithfulness  to 


126  EIQHTY-NTNE. 

those  to  whom  he  owed  only  the  debt  of  servitude.  For 
his  people  he  became  a  hero ;  for  his  mistress'  sake  a  mar- 
tyr, sir  I  " 

The  officer  strode  away,  scornful  and  indignant.  I 
wondered  at  the  strange  infatuation  that  accounted  the  un- 
faithful slave  who  lay  dead  Avithout,  a  hero  and  a  martyr. 
To  me  he  was  a  dog  who  had  been  fitly  punished.  They 
were  Northern  men — the  first,  I  think,  that  I  had  ever 
met.  It  flashed  across  me  then,  that  they  knew  nothing 
about  the  matter  of  which  they  spoke.  I  even  smiled  at 
their  ignorance.  We  represented  the  poles  of  American 
civilization,  and  neither  understood  the  distance  that  lay 
between.  What  the  one  counted  heroic,  the  other  esteemed 
the  climax  of  baseness  and  ingratitude. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Of  what  followed  there  is  no  need  to  write.  I  buried 
my  dead  under  the  trees  where  her  husband  had  waited  so 
long  for  her  coming.  Tlie  enemy  were  very  considerate. 
The  grave  was  dug  by  alien  hands  and  I  was  allowed  to  de- 
part without  hindrance.  For  a  time  we  remained  within 
the  enemy's  lines,  which  extended  beyond  the  Grove.  When 
the  ashes  of  the  roof-tree  lay  upon  the  hearthstone  as  my 
grandmother  had  predicted,  we  did  not  think  of  returning 
to  Ryalmont,  but  went  on  through  the  hostile  lines  into  the 
camp  of  our  friends,  only  to  become  a  part  of  the  suffer- 
ing, terror-stricken  crowd  of  fugitives,  driven  from  the 
Queen  City  of  the  hills  by  the  barbaric  ruthlessness  of  tlie 
victorious  enemy.  I  would  not  dwell  upon  the  sufferings  of 
that  terrible  time.  Then  were  sown  the  seeds  of  disease 
that  ere  long  left  us  alone — my  mother  and  myself. 

My  father  uttered  no  word  of  reproach  for  what  had 
happened.  Nay,  he  had  even  commended  my  conduct, 
though  I  told  him  all,  extenuating  nothing.  Yet  I  grew 
morbid,  and  wished  that  I  might  die.  Already  I  had  seen 
my  grandmother's  prophesy  fulfilled.  "  The  King  of  the 
North  "  had  come  !    The  Grove  lay  in  ashes  ! 

We  had  no  special  reason  to  complain.  We  suffered 
187 


12B  EIGHTY-NINE. 

only  the  haps  of  war,  aud  were  but  a  part  of  the  great  throng 
of  refugees  who  fled  from  the  enemy's  power,  but  never 
thought  of  surrender.  Scarcely  had  my  mother  reached 
the  shelter  of  a  house  on  one  of  her  father's  plantations 
when  we  saw  that  also  burned  by  the  same  ruthless  legions 
Alio  followed  on  our  track.  Ah,  what  desolation  they 
/eft  behind  them  I  Exposure,  want  and  terror  had  made  my 
mother  a  wreck  of  her  former  self.  The  baby-faced  sister 
had  grown  wild-eyed  aud  puny  in  the  midst  of  war's  alarms. 
At  the  best,  it  seemed  that  but  little  of  life  was  left  to  either. 
In  a  vain  attempt  to  protect  them  from  further  aud  grosser 
outrage,  I  came  near  meeting  the  fate  I  courted.  They 
said  I  fought  with  savage  ferocity  when  the  undisciplined 
hoi  de  ravaged  our  little  store  and  offered  insult  to  those 
in  my  charge.  It  was  foolish  desperation.  A  sabre-stroke 
left  me  apparently  dead,  and  my  folly  destroyed  the 
roof  to  which  we  had  fled  for  refuge.  The  gi'eat  pine  forest 
opened  its  arms  to  the  terrified  household,  and  a  slave  per- 
formed a  last  service  by  bearing  me  to  a  place  of  shelter  far 
within  its  soughing  shadows.  He  brought  also  a  slender 
stock  of  provisions,  a  remnant  of  the  household  stores  which 
had  escaped  the  flames — enough,  it  was  hoped,  to  serve  un- 
til relief  should  come.  The  next  day  he  set  out  to  carry 
word  of  our  sad  plight  to  my  grandfather.  He  was  the  last 
of  those  ''held  to  service  or  labor  "in  our  behalf.  His 
faithfulness  had  withstood  want,  peril  and  frequent  oppor- 
tunity to  escape,  but  he  neither  delivered  the  message  nor 


EIGHTY-NINE.  129 

returned.  What  became  of  him  we  nsver  knew.  Whether 
the  hope  of  freedom  was  too  much  for  his  faithfulness,  or 
he  paid  for  his  devotion  with  his  life,  we  could  not  tell. 
Betwixt  the  enemy  with  their  barbarous  marauders  and  the 
rough  riders  who  hung  upon  their  flank  and  rear,  life  was 
very  uncertain — especially  a  black  man's  life. 

It  was  long  before  I  knew  what  we  sutfered — how  death 
had  come  to  our  circle  and  starvation  had  stared  us  in  the 
face,  while  my  mother  nursed  me  back  to  life.  For  a  day's 
journey  on  either  side  stretched  the  devastation  that  lay 
in  Sherman's  track — a  dt'vastation  afterwards  celebrated  in 
rollicking  song  by  the  enemy.  For  us,  our  tears  made  no 
noise,  however  fast  they  fell.  My  mother  would  not  let  me 
die.  She  had,  I  think,  given  up  her  husband,  and  in  her 
forecasted  widowhood  fought  madly  for  my  life.  We  were 
safe,  for  a  time  at  least,  and  my  mother  devoted  herself  to 
the  care  of  her  sick  child  and  her  unconscious  son.  For 
days  there  was  but  a  morsel  for  us  all,  and  little  hope  of  re- 
lief. She  was  too  weak  to  go  in  search  of  food.  She  did 
once  drag  her  feeble  limbs  to  Avhere  the  nearest  house  had 
stood,  three  miles  away,  only  to  find  it  a  heap  of  ashes. 
The  destroyer's  track  was  wide  and  desolate.  "  War,"  he 
said,  "  is  barbarism  ;"  and  well  did  this  barbarian  illustrate 
his  own  philosophy.     So  she  prayed  and  waited  for  the  end. 

At  length  the  last  dust  of  meal  had  been  consumed. 
The  next  morning  she  found  a  rabbit  lying  on  the  window- 
ledge.    A  cat  which  had  followed  us  from  the  burned  house 


130  EIGHTY. NINE. 

had  brought  its  prey  to  those  threatened  with  starvation. 
Every  morning  for  twelve  days  the  same  thing  occurred. 
Then  relief  came,  and  she  ceased  to  provide  us  with  game. 
The  story  is  too  well  known  to  need  affirmation.  I  only 
mention  it  here  that  my  silence  may  not  be  construed  into 
denial.  My  mother  has  always  deemed  it  a  miracle.  Per- 
haps I  have  not  been  without  the  feeling  that  a  life  thus 
strangely  ])reservcd  may  have  had  some  special  purpose. 

When  I  woke  to  consciousness  we  were  but  two.  The 
first  task  they  had  to  perform,  who  came  to  our  rescue, 
was  to  dig  a  little  grave  in  the  soft  white  sand  under 
the  pine  needles.  So  one  of  our  household  slept  beneath 
the  oaks  at  Ryalmont,  one  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  pines, 
and  two,  worn  and  feeble,  waited  hopelessly  at  a  kinsman's 
house  beside  the  Oconee.  The  other — whose  life  and  fame 
was  all  that  was  left  to  us  of  earthly  joy — ah!  where  was  he 
in  those  last  days  of  tumult  and  disaster  ? 

We  heard  of  him  but  seldom  during  those  weary 
mouths.  Perhaps  we  ought  not  to  have  done  so,  but  we 
kept  from  him  the  story  of  our  woes.  Only  the  bare  fact 
of  his  bereavements  ever  came  to  his  knowledge.  His 
brilliant  career  was  the  one  consolation  of  our  lives.  In 
the  wearisome  weeks  that  elapsed  before  I  could  leave  my 
bed,  the  story  of  his  gallant  deeds  was  the  sole  anesthetic 
of  my  pain.  I  remember  my  mother  telling  it  over  and 
over  again  as  she  used  to  sing  cradle  songs  to  me  in 
childhood.     She  had  carried  the  little  worn  bundle  of  his 


EIGHTY-NINE.  131 

letters  iu  her  bosom  through  all  our  perils.     They  were  the 
most  precious  things  she  possessed. 

I  was  but  half-restored  when  the  end  came.  It  had 
been  long  expected.  My  father's  last  letter  had  left  no 
room  for  hope.  Then  there  was  silence — and  we  waited 
with  beating  hearts  for  the  result.  The  rumor  of  surren- 
der— tliat  epoch  to  which  all  the  subsequent  events  of  the 
South  properly  relate,  because  it  marks  the  beginning  of 
its  new  life — had  already  passed  from  quivering  heart  to 
heart  like  an  electric  flash.  AYe  waited  only  for  confirma- 
tion of  our  forebodings.  Gloom,  uncertainty,  terror  and 
grief  were  strangely  commingled  in  every  breast. 


In  the  fourth  spring  after  that  which  witnessed  its 
birth,  the  fair  new  nation  died.  The  starry  cross  that 
had  waved  triumphant  over  a  hundred  battle-fields,  had 
danced  above  the  waters  of  every  sea,  and  kissed  the  breezes 
of  every  clime,  was  trailed  in  the  dust  wet  with  tears  and 
grimy  with  the  smoke  of  confiict,  and  folded  away  by  fair 
hands  embalmed  in  sweet  incense  and  holy  memories. 

Eight  millions  of  freemen  had  bidden  defiance  to  three 
times  their  number  in  the  holy  cause  of  liberty,  staking  all 
for  the  right  of  self-government — and  failed !  Hope  gave 
way  to  humiliation ;  determination  to  despair.  Xo  pen 
can  picture  the  universal  woe.     The  past  was  swallowed 


132  EIGHTY-NINE. 

up  in  oblivion.  Its  beauty,  its  brightness,  its  glory  were 
swept  away.  Even  its  heroism  was  branded  with  infamy. 
Tlie  sources  of  its  prosperity  were  dried  up.  Those  who 
had  been  the  subjects  of  its  will  were  to  be  the  shapers  of 
its  destiny.  Instead  of  boastful  leaders,  the  people  of  the 
South  could  be  regarded  in  the  future,  at  the  best,  as  only 
bastard  children  of  the  Kepublic.  It  mattered  not  how  long 
they  might  remain  under  her  sway ;  how  faithfully  they 
might  guard  her  interests  or  serve  under  her  banner,  the 
stain  of  rebellion  and  the  taint  of  failure  must  rest  forever 
on  them.  If  it  had  been  in  truth  a  civil  war — one  whose 
dissensions  interpermeated  a  whole  people  and  were  not 
confined  to  one  section  or  class — this  would  not  have 
been  the  case.  Then  the  necessities  of  good  neighborship 
and  the  difficulty  of  preserving  the  distinction,  would,  in 
time,  have  effaced  the  brand  of  treason.  But  when  the  line 
of  fracture  is  clear  and  distinct — on  the  one  side,  loyalty 
to  the  old  government  all  but  universal,  and  on  the  other, 
devotion  to  the  new  almost  without  excef)tion — in  such  a 
case,  from  the  very  nature  of  humanity,  the  shame  is  made 
perpetual,  the  taint  of  disloyalty  can  never  lose  its  force, 
and  never  cease  to  be  imputed  when  the  blood  flows  hot 
and  passion  fires  the  heart.  The  children's  children  must 
bear  the  humiliation  of  the  father's  shame.  So  a  proud 
people,  stripped  of  consolation  in  the  past,  and  covered  with 
humiliation  in  the  present,  looked  forward  to  the  futui'e 


EIGHTY-NINE.  133 

without  hope  and  with  ouly  a  sullen,  distrustful  defiance 
mingled  with  their  despair. 


Not  in  a  thousand  years — if  indeed  in  all  history — has 
the  result  of  any  war  touched  the  individual  lives  of  a  whole 
nation  so  closely  as  did  this  the  life  of  every  one  of  the 
Southern  people.  Not  more  radical  was  the  change  of  re- 
lation when  Israel  was  driven  away  into  captivity.  No 
individual  of  any  class  was  left  unaffected  by  the  outcome. 
Those  Avho  had  been  the  richest  of  the  rich,  as  a  rule,  were 
now  the  poorest  of  the  poor.  Class  and  privilege  were  abol- 
ished. Ouly  race  and  consanguinity  remained.  The  bar- 
rier betwixt  the  master  and  the  ' '  poor  white  "  was  thrown 
down,  and  all  stood  together  on  the  lower  level.  If  there 
were  any  odds,  they  were  now  with  those  who  had  formerly 
carried  weight  in  the  race  of  life.  The  people  who  had 
been  so  closely  united  by  the  singular  necessities  of  the  past 
were  now  inseparably  welded  in  the  -white  heat  of  disaster. 
Hereafter  there  could  be  but  two  classes.  Between  them 
ran  the  line  of  color — the  insuperable  barrier  of  fate  ! 

When  the  billows  of  disaster  swept  over  the  South,  her 
most  hopeful  children  felt  that  all  was  lost.  We  were  fools 
at  whose  folly  fate  already  mocked  !  Our  past  had  made  us 
weak  in  one  thing — mechanical  creation.  In  this  the  enemy 
were  exceptionally  strong,  and  because  of  this  they  con- 


134  EIGHTY-NINE. 

quered.  The  struggle  tauglit  us  what  we  needed  to  gain 
and  why  we  did  not  succeed.  It  showed  us  our  weakness 
and  our  strength.  It  only  prepared  us  for  a  triumph  which, 
had  it  come  at  that  time,  would  have  been  forever  fatal  to 
our  hopes.  Had  the  South  won,  with  slavery  still  an  actual 
;ind  controlling  force,  its  career  as  an  independent  nation 
must  have  been  brief.  In  any  age  the  institution  is  the  sure 
precursor  of  peril.  Indicative  of  wealth,  it  is  never  an  ad- 
junct of  power.  In  our  day  the  tide  of  civilization  sets  so 
strongly  against  the  principle  that  no  nation  could  build 
upon  it  as  a  corner-stone  with  any  hope  of  permanence. 
Defeat,  therefore,  revealed  at  once  the  weakness  of  our 
enemy  and  the  evil  which  hopelessly  weighed  down  our 
aspirations.  It  rid  us  of  a  fatal  burden  and  showed  us  how 
we  might  ultimately  succeed. 


Fate  had  still  one  more  terrible  blow  in  store  for  us. 
My  grandfather  had  learned  of  our  calamity  in  time  to  res- 
cue us  from  starvation  and  remove  us  to  a  more  comforta- 
ble but  humble  dwelling  on  one  of  his  plantations.  He  had 
little  hope,  if  any,  of  our  cause,  but  of  my  father's  gallantry 
and  genius  he  could  scarce  find  words  to  express  his  ad- 
miration. "Whatever  the  end  might  be,  it  could  only  bring 
him  fame.  In  all  the  battles  he  had  received  no  wound, 
neither  he  nor  his  good  horse.     He  was  sure  to  come  out 


ETGHTY-NINE.  135 

whole,  and  in  the  future  would  make  good  the  mistakes  of 
the  past.  Thus  spoke  the  hopeful  aristocrat  of  the  plebian 
son-in-law  in  whom  all  his  pride  was  centered.  He  assured 
us  that  he  had  saved  a  store  of  cotton,  securely  hidden  in 
almost  inpenetrable  swamps,  so  that  when  peace  came  we 
would  still  have  ''enough  to  go  a  long  way  when  we  should 
have  no  niggers  to  feed."  He  had  cleverly  prevised  the  re- 
sult, and  with  the  shrewdness  of  his  people  had  provided 
against  want. 

His  cheerfulness  was  not  without  effect  nj^onour  broken 
spirits.  As  the  spring  advanced  our  hopes  revived  with  the 
opening  blossoms.  For  the  first  time  my  mother  began  to 
pray  for  peace.  Patiently,  hopefully,  uncomplainingly  she 
had  borne  all,  praying  only  that  the  right  might  triumph — 
the  right  her  husband  had  taught  her  to  believe  must  ulti- 
mately prevail  and  for  which  he  had  offered  all.  But  faith 
and  hope — almost  desire  for  victory — were  dead,  and  now 
she  only  prayed  that  the  end  might  come  and  he  be  spared 
to  return  to  her  arms. 

An  enemy's  hand  struck  the  final  blow.  For  weeks  we 
had  heard  nothing  from  the  outer  world.  We  felt  sure  the 
end  had  come  ;  but  when,  and  how,  and  where  ? — of  these 
we  knew  nothing.  The  blow  had  fallen  in  the  darkness 
and  we  knew  not  what  had  been  the  scath  it  wrought. 

One  day  a  band  of  troopers,  riding  jaded  horses  but 
full  of  rollicking  Jestfulness,  came  by.  They  said  the  war 
was  over  and  they  were  in  search  of  a  fugitive  president. 


136  EIGHTY. NINE. 

Their  conduct  gave  proof  of  their  sincerity.  They  neither 
pillaged  nor  insulted.  When  they  rode  away  they  left  a 
newspaper  ^oublislied  in  Xew  York.  I  shall  never  forget 
how  strange  its  imprimatur  looked.  I  had  not  seen  a  sheet 
bearing  that  impression  for  more  than  three  years.  It  told 
the  story  of  Appomattox  and  the  few  days  that  preceded  it. 
Among  other  things  it  related  how,  on  the  last  day  that 
there  was  any  hope  for  the  Confederate  cause,  one  who  com- 
manded a  divison,  which,  though  worn  and  decimated, 
still  marched  with  closed  ranks  and  soldierly  bearing,  was 
asked  by  his  great  leader  to  make  one  more  charge,  to  gain 
time  for  the  army  to  escajDe  the  clutches  of  the  foe  that 
hung  on  its  flanks.  Even  this  hostile  sheet  told  with  a 
burst  of  hearty  admiration  how  the  oflficer  had  saluted  his 
commander  and  ridden  away  as  gaily  as  if  to  assured  vic- 
tory, leading  his  depleted  command  like  a  thunderbolt 
against  the  enemy  and  falling,  with  a  shout  of  triumph  on 
his  lips,  as  the  crowded  ranks  gave  way  before  his  impetuous 
charge.  He  bore  my  father's  family  name.  We  knew  that 
there  were  three  commanders  of  that  name  in  the  army  of 
Northern  Virginia.  As  if  from  fear  that  hope  might  yet 
live  in  the  bereaved  hearts,  the  name  of  his  horse  was  given, 
and  the  fact  carefully  noted  that  man  and  horse  had  passed 
safely  through  all  those  four  years  of  strife  only  to  fall  to- 
gether on  the  last  contested  field — afield  made  ever  glorious 
by  his  gallantry.  The  horse's  name  was  "  Secession! " 
Even  in  our  sorrow  the  praise  of  the  foe — a  grudging. 


EIOEl  Y-NINE.  137 

mercenary  and  unappreciative  foe,  as  we  thought  them  to 
be — was  very  sweet.  I  have  never  forgotten  its  sweetness, 
and  would  not  wrong  by  the  shadow  of  a  thought  those  who 
hiid  so  fragrant  a  chaplet  on  my  father's  bier.  The  shock 
was  too  much  for  my  weakened  system  and  a  relapse  fol- 
lowed. When  I  grew  stronger  my  mother  took  me  back  to 
Eyalmont.  I  think  she  felt  nearer  to  her  dead  there  than 
anywhere  else.  A  pall  hung  over  the  whole  land,  shutting 
out  the  future  but  preserving  the  dead  hopes  and  racking- 
memories  of  the  past.  Fortunately,  however,  with  nations 
as  with  individuals,  duty  and  necessity  come  to  deaden  the 
woes  of  the  past  and  impel  to  the  achievements  of  the  fu- 
ture. 


Unlike  most  wars  of  modern  times,  this  one  brought 
universal  poverty  with  our  defeat.  The  world  has  never 
appreciated  the  sacrifices  which  the  Southern  people  made 
for  liberty.  Perhaps  it  never  will.  They  staked  their  all 
for  the  cause  of  self-government.  Men  risked  fortune, 
life  and  honor.  Women  gave  up  luxury  and  abandoned 
splendor  without  regret.  Of  gold  and  silver  the  Confed- 
eracy had  little.  Not  half  a  dozen  coins  exist  that  bear  its 
imprint.  But  her  children  gave  all  that  they  had,  and 
then  coined  their  hopes  and  their  hearts,  taking  in  exchange 
her  promise  to  pay,  even  under  the  shadow  of  the  Federal 
flag.     All  this,  of  course,  was  swept  away.     Individuals, 


138  EIGHTY- NINE. 

corporations,  municipalities,  states — all  were  left  bankrupt. 
If  they  afterward  repudiated  the  debts  of  the  past,  it  was 
not  until  the  whole  economical  structure  on  which  they 
were  based  was  swept  away  by  war. 

Slavery,  which  was  the  bank  in  which  the  Southern 
man  deposited  his  surplus,  had  disappeared,  and  with  it 
the  earnings  of  two  centuries.  Five  billions  of  dollars,  the 
accumulations  of  a  people  enterprising  and  economical  to  a 
degree  that  few  nations  have  ever  equaled,  were  thus  swept 
out  of  existence.  Land  was  the  only  representative  of  value 
remaining,  save  mere  personal  possessions,  and  on  these 
war  had  fed  for  a  quadrenniate.  From  being  in  one  sense, 
perhaps,  the  richest  people  in  the  world,  the  South,  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  became  the  poorest. 

Even  to  that  poverty  came  a  cry  for  charity  which 
could  not  go  unheeded.  The  slave,  now  made  free, 
besought  his  impoverished  master  to  supply  tomorrow's 
bread.  The  master  heard,  and  out  of  his  vanishing  stores 
gave  to  the  chattel  he  had  lost,  enough  to  supply  his  wants. 
It  was  a  proud  moment — a  beautiful  picture  !  A  people 
stripped  of  wealth,  reduced  almost  to  penury,  sharing  the 
little  that  remained  with  the  slaves  the  enemy  had  made 
free !  Of  course,  the  enemy  fed  some  of  them ;  then 
vaunted  their  charity  and  boasted  of  the  food  and  clothing 
which  they  gave  to  the  famishing  freedman — surplus  food 
and  cast-off  clothing  !  But  the  South,  on  whom  the 
greater  burden  fell,  made  no  moan,  uttered  no  cry,  sylla- 


EIGHTY-NINE.  139 

bled  no  boast.  Her  children  were  starving  ;  her  granaries 
and  smokehouses  empty  ;  her  kitchens  ravaged  by  vandal 
hordes.  For  four  years  the  products  of  the  earth  had  been 
garnered  by  war.  Four  harvests  had  been  lost,  and  their 
proceeds  swallowed  up  by  the  insatiate,  bloodstained  earth. 
Luxury  had  been  so  long  forgotten  that  its  commonest 
forms  were  strangers  to  households  once  rejoicing  in  abun- 
dance. Yet  in  their  poverty,  humiliation  and  despair,  they 
shared  the  little  that  was  left  with  the  bondman  who  had 
served  them.  Compared  with  the  bounty  of  which  the 
North  boasted,  this  unnoted  charity  was  as  the  ocean  to  the 
rivulet.  I  would  not  seem  to  boast  even  of  my  own  coun- 
trymen, but  it  is  time  the  truth  was  told.  It  brought  its 
own  reward,  too.  The  struggle  for  self-support  and  this 
charity  which  common  humanity  made  compulsory— the 
support  of  the  former  slave — was  the  best  possible  prepara- 
tion our  people  could  have  had  for  the  career  of  self -develop- 
ment upon  which  they  have  since  entered. 

No  wonder  the  excitement  and  agony  of  this  woful 
time  was  too  much  for  my  weakened  frame.  I  remem- 
ber struggling  against  insensibility  for  my  poor  mother's 
sake.  They  say  my  need  of  nursing  crowded  her  woe  into 
the  background  and  saved  her  from  being  overwhelmed. 
It  seemed  cowardly  and  mean  at  this  supreme  crisis  of  fate 
to  leave  the  burden  on  her  shoulders  ;  but  I  was  too  weak 
to  resist  the  encroachments  of  disease,  and  felt  the  shad- 
ows gathering  around  me  with  a  dim  sense  of  relief  that 


140  EIGHTY-MNE. 

I  was  not  to  witness  the  ills  which  the  future  must  inevi- 
tably bring.  I  was  glad  that  my  father  had  not  lived  to 
see  the  humiliation  of  our  people,  and  rejoiced  that  little 
Madge  had  not  survived  to  suffer  degradation.  I  grieved 
only  for  my  mother,  and  that  pityingly,  rather  than  with 
any  idea  of  relieving  her  sorrow  or  lightening  her  burdens. 

Even  when  apj^arent  health  returned  I  was  hardly  more 
hopeful.  A  nerveless  languor  had  taken  an  irresistible 
hold  upon  me.  I  neither  hoped  nor  feared  nor  cared.  I 
was  dully  conscious  of  our  return  to  Ryalmont,  but  noted 
little  of  what  had  happened.  Vicey  had  remained  upon 
the  premises  with  her  children.  For  many  months  the 
house  was  the  headquarters  of  the  Federal  officer  com- 
manding in  the  valley.  Strangely  enougli,  he  had  neither 
stolen  nor  defaced.  I  think  there  is  hardly  another  house 
in  the  entire  theater  of  war  in  which  the  Yankee  set  his 
foot  that  does  not  yet  bear  marks  of  his  occupancy.  Per- 
haps it  was  because  Vicey  remained  and  served  him  that 
her  mistress'  belongings  were  not  pillaged.  Rank  weeds 
were  growing  where  the  mansion  at  the  Grove  had  stood, 
but  despite  the  vicissitudes  it  had  undergone  we  found 
Ryalmont  almost  as  comfortable  as  when  we  were  driven 
from  the  shelter  of  its  roof. 

The  Federal  soldiers  had  buried  Jack  near  the  mouth 
of  the  Pass,  with  a  cairn  of  loose  stones  heaped  over  him, 
and  an  inscription  reciting  his  merits  painted  on  a  rude 
headboard.     This  was  soon  obliterated  as  an   insult  to 


EIGHT T-  NINE.  141 

our  people.  He  died  for  his  race,  but  tliey  will  never  do 
him  honor.  Gratitude  for  favors  past,  seems  to  be  a  virtue 
foreign  to  their  natures.  Even  John  Brown,  to  whom  they 
owe  more  than  to  any  other  man,  they  have  never  dreamed 
of  honoring.  A  penny  from  each  would  build  him  a  royal 
monument,  but  the  place  where  his  gallows  stood  is  not 
even  hallowed  ground  to  them.  The  promise  of  the  future 
is,  as  yet,  far  more  significant  to  them  than  the  sacrificial 
offerings  of  the  past. 

It  was  well  that  my  mother  was  an  Elspre.  She  in- 
herited with  the  name  not  only  the  thrift  but  the  hopeful- 
ness of  her  Breton  ancestors.  I  never  knew  how  it  was 
done,  but  late  as  the  season  was,  a  crop  was  pitched  at 
Eyalmont.  Christoi^her,  with  a  Federal  uniform  upon  his 
back  and  a  small  supply  of  Federal  "greenbacks"  in  his 
pocket,  reappeared  and  offered  to  work  the  Grove  "on 
shares."  There  were  neither  fences,  utensils  nor  stock,  but 
somehow  Christopher  and  my  mother  managed  to  raise  a 
notable  crop  that  year.  The  arable  acreage  of  Eyalmont 
was  not  gi'eat,  but  the  land  was  fertile  and  all  the  richer 
for  the  dead  lying  beneath  its  mold  and  the  enemy's  long 
occupancy.  The  presence  of  the  commanding  officer  had 
saved  the  grounds  from  spoliation,  and  the  3"ears  of  war  had 
added  luxuriance  to  the  trees  my  father  had  planted.  It 
was  a  bower  of  blossoms  when  we  returned,  and  every  petal 
seemed  redolent  of  his  memory.  While  my  mother  was  in- 
tent on  restoring  our  fortunes  I  only  brooded  of  the  past. 


142  EIGHTY-NINE. 

No  appeal  that  she  could  make  stirred  in  me  a  throb  of  am- 
bition. Even  the  sight  of  her  hopeful  energy  gave  me  no 
desire  to  share  her  toils  or  lighten  her  labor.  She  wished 
me  to  emulate  my  father's  example,  but  I  could  not  bear 
the  thought  of  exertion.  To  escape  her  importunity  I 
wandered  about  upon  the  mountain  loitering  dreamily, 
in  sunshine  or  shadow,  thinking  only  of  the  past.  My 
mother  bitterly  reproved  my  listlessness,  declaring  that  it 
was  the  "poor-white  blood"  asserting  itself  in  my  nature. 
It  is  a  curious  fact  that  the  planter-class  of  the  South, 
who  are  regarded  by  the  Xorth  as  ease  loving  aristocrats, 
have  an  ineffable  scorn  of  the  lack  of  ambition  and  antipa- 
thy to  labor  which  the  "  poor-white"  man  so  often  displays. 
My  mother's  reproaches  only  drove  me  oftener  from 
home  and  farther  into  the  solitude  of  the  mountains.  The 
Pass,  with  its  sad  associations,  had  a  peculiar  charm  for 
me.  I  often  traced  its  windings,  noted  the  indications  of 
the  enemy's  brief  sojourn,  and  studied  with  interest  and 
surprise  the  ingenious  devices  by  which  they  had  overcome, 
swiftly  and  easily,  what  seemed  insuperable  obstacles  to 
their  sudden  night  march.  I  learned  that  a  body  of  "  pion- 
eers" in  a  single  afternoon  had  made  the  night  march 
through  the  rugged  glen  not  only  possible  but  compara- 
tively easy.  The  old  trail'  and  the  bed  of  tho  mountain 
torrent  had  helped  them.  So  the  time  dragged  by  until 
the  midsummer  came  and  the  anniversary  of  my  grand- 
mother's death  drew  near. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

One  of  the  works  in  the  valley  to  which  our  Pass  led 
had  gi'own  from  a  simple  redan,  constructed  to  oppose  the 
ingress  of  the  enemy,  to  a  fort  which  was  the  key  to  the 
whole  valley.  The  roads  leading  north  and  south  between 
the  mountain  ranges  met  a  handred  yards  in  front  of  this 
fort,  and  entered  a  wide  easy  pass  that  ran  to  the  westward. 
The  fort  became  important  to  tlie  enemy  after  his  advance, 
commanding  as  it  did  the  most  available  route  to  his  rear, 
along  which  supplies  must  be  brought  in  case  the  railroad 
should  be  disabled  for  any  length  of  time.  For  this  reason 
it  was  enlarged  into  an  enclosed  work  of  great  strength, 
which  was  held  by  a  considerable  force  for  some  months. 
It  was  so  formidable,  in  fact,  that  Hood  abandoned  the  de- 
sign of  assailing  it  when  he  broke  through  the  enemy's 
lines,  and  turned  westward  to  fall  on  his  communications 
instead  of  his  rear. 

The  valley  had  been  denuded  of  timber,  partly  to  sup- 
ply the  needs  of  the  armies  and  partly  to  give  range  for  ar- 
tillery. The  new  growth  had  sprung  up  with  wonderful 
luxuriance,  transforming  the  whole  plain  into  a  dense 
thicket  through  which,  white  and  tortuous,  wound  the 
roads,  shut  in  by  walls  of  solid  green.  Fosse  and  scarp  were 
covered  with  the  same  rank  growth,  which  choked  even 
143 


144  EIGHTY-NINE 

the  noxious  weeds  the  invaders  had  brought  with  them. 
Here  for  the  first  time  I  saw  the  phmt  known  as  "  Canada 
thistle,"  which  was  never  found  on  Southern  soil  until  war 
brought  it  among  the  curses  that  followed  in  its  train.  Xot 
many  travelers  passed  along  the  country  road  at  that  time, 
and  few  of  these  paused  to  trace  the  green  billows  which 
alone  marked  the  position  of  the  old  earth-work. 

This  crumbling  fortress,  hidden  in  the  dark  green  sea  of 
rank  growing  chapparel,  was  my  favorite  resort.  The  bram- 
bles had  lined  scarp  and  counter-scarp  with  an  almost  impas- 
sable clieval-de-frise.  On  the  crest  of  the  parapet  I  had 
cleared  a  narrow  path.  A  vixen  had  made  liei-  den  and 
reared  her  whelps  in  one  of  the  angles.  There  was  a  fine 
view  to  the  west  and  south,  while  on  the  mountain  side  to 
the  northeastward  one  could  yet  trace  the  lines  of  works 
where  the  grand  assault  was  made  and  repulsed. 

On  the  right  of  the  road,  a  hundred  yards  to  the  west- 
ward, was  an  old  church  which  war  has  made  forever 
famous.  The  flinty  knoll,  on  which  it  stood,  once  crowned 
by  a  noble  oak  grove,  was  now  bare,  leaving  the  dark 
weather-beaten  hulk  a  landmark  in  the  unbroken  sea  ot 
green.  It  still  bore  testimony  of  the  scath  of  war.  There 
were  holes  in  the  roof  through  which  the  shells  had  come 
shiieking  on  their  way  to  the  little  work  behind  which  our 
forces  stood.  Its  door  was  open,  so  that  man  or  beast  entered 
unhindered.  Its  floor  was  yet  grimy  with  unholy  use. 
Upon  the  dark  pine  ceiling  were  yet  darker  traces  of  the 


EIGHTT.NTNB.  145 

spray  shot  upward  from  severed  arteries  when  the  surgeons 
plied  their  instruments  within  its  altar. 

In  digging  the  ditch  on  one  side  of  the  fort,  a  vein  of 
pure  cool  water  had  been  struck,  which  still  sent  a  little 
stream  trickling  under  overhanging  alders  to  the  sandy 
roadbed  below.  This  scoring  had  been  carefully  walled  and 
arched  by  the  ingenious  soldiery,  with  pieces  of  white  quartz 
brought  from  a  hillside  half  a  mile  away.  The  bottom, 
too,  was  lined  with  choice  crystals  of  the  same.  Small 
specks  of  gold  and  sparkling  veins  of  delusive  pyrites 
showed  in  the  alabaster  blocks.  They  had  built  over  it 
also  a  little  grotto  with  rustic  benches.  On  the  outer  line 
of  the  work  at  this  point  grew  a  sturdy  oak.  It  had  been 
cut  off  even  with  the  parapet  and  a  narrow  flight  of  steps 
in  the  red  clay  embankment  were  half  hidden  by  its  bole. 
Over  this  was  built  the  arbor  that  shaded  the  spring.  The 
stump  had  sent  out  so  rank  a  growth  about  its  crown  that 
the  overweighted  boughs  sloped  down  until  they  met  the 
undergrowth  around.  Young  shoots  had  sprung  up  through 
the  rough  wood-work  here  and  there,  but  I  had  cut  them 
off,  cleared  the  leaves  out  of  the  spring,  and  made  myself 
a  retreat  almost  impervious  to  prying  eyes  and  so  deftly 
hidden  that  no  passer-by  would  dream  of  its  existence. 

I  do  not  know  why,  but  it  pleased  me  to  think  that  I 
might  walk  upon  the  parapet,  looking  out  over  the  sea  of 
dark  green  foliage  for  miles  in  every  direction,  and  by  tak- 
ing three  steps  down  its  side  be  hidden  as  securely  as  a 


146  EIOETT-NINE. 

mole  in  its  burrow.  The  silence  and  the  desolation  pleased 
me.  There  was  an  indescribable  charm  in  this  piece  of 
the  enemy's  handiwork.  I  had  collected  a  grim  museum 
in  it.  Bullets,  pieces  of  shell,  a  skull,  and  other  relics  of 
war  time,  lay  upon  the  beneli  around  the  foot  of  the  oak 
whose  rugged  bole  itself  bore  marks  of  the  conflict. 
Througli  the  network  of  leaves  I  could  see  both  the  roads 
and  had  a  fair  view  of  their  junction. 

To  this  retreat  I  came  one  day  in  midsummer.  It  did 
not  occur  to  me,  until  I  had  eaten  my  simple  luncheon  and 
drunk  of  the  spring,  that  it  was  the  anniversary  of  my 
grandmother's  death.  As  maybe  imagined,  my  reflections 
were  not  pleasant.  I  hardly  knew  how  time  passed  until 
cheerful  voices  roused  me  from  my  absorption.  I  knew 
instantly  they  were  the  voices  of  strangers.  We  had  little 
laughter  among  us  then.  The  few  country  people  I  had 
l)een  wont  to  see  passing  along  the  road  had  that  look  of 
hopeless  apathy  which  invariably  settled  upon  those  who 
lived  witliin  the  actual  theater  of  war. 

I  remembered  having  heard  that  a  company  of  federal 
officers  were  surveying  and  mapping  the  old  battle-fields, 
and  feared  they  might  be  coming  to  examine  the  fort. 
Perhaps  they  would  even  profane  my  leafy  sanctuary.  I 
wondered  if  they  would  find  the  little  path  that  led  down 
to  it  from  the  parapet.  I  dreaded  to  look  out,  lest  I  should 
catch  sight  of  a  blue  uniform.  My  feeling  towards  our 
recent  enemy  was,  at  that  time,  one  of  simple  unmitigated 


EIGHTY-NINE.  147 

hate.  No  other  word-  expresses  it,  and  I  am  not  sure  that 
even  this  tells  all  the  sickening  intensity  of  my  detestation. 
Even  now,  when  all  malevolence  is  gone  and  only  kindly 
admiration  remains  in  my  heart,  I  have  a  jaositive  antipa- 
thy for  blue.  I  think  this  is  common  with  my  country- 
men. It  does  not  imply  hostility,  but  only  the  bitter  taste 
that  brings  to  the  mind  the  bolus — the  continuing  and  in- 
herited aversion  to  what  recalls  our  days  of  humiliation 
and  defeat.  The  gray  is  a  not  uncommon  uniform  with  the 
militia  of  the  North,  but  even  the  holiday  soldier  of  the 
South  would  never  feel  comfortable  in  a  garb  of  blue.  Its 
darker  shades  have  not  been  popular  even  with  our  ladies, 
since  Appomattox.  We  have,  I  suppose,  the  same  uncon- 
scious dislike  for  blue  that  our  forefathers  had  for  red-coats, 
only  intensified  by  disaster  instead  of  being  mollified  by 
victory. 

I  was  not  disappointed  when,  peeping  through  my 
leafy  screen,  I  saw  a  half  dozen  officers  in  more  or  less  of 
military  undress,  but  still  with  the  hated  blue  predomi- 
nating, mounted  on  finely  groomed  and  caparisoned  horses, 
riding  toward  the  forks  of  the  road.  I  cannot  express  the 
bitterness  I  felt,  yet  I  could  not  help  observing  their 
movements.  With  them  were  two  or  three  ladies.  I  knew 
they  were  Northern  women — probably  the  wives  and 
daughters  of  some  of  their  escort.  I  smiled  at  the  stiffness 
with  which  they  sat  their  horses  and  would  have  known  by 
that  alone  they  Avere  not  my  countrywomen.  But  I  had 
no  need  to  speculate  upon  that  question.     There  were  few 


148  EIGHTY. NINE. 

Southern  women  who  would  have  accepted  such  escort  at 
that  time.  There  was  one  exception  to  this  awkwardness. 
The  last  couple  in  the  cavalcade  consisted  of  a  dapper  young 
man,  who  wore  spectacles  and  rode  a  showy,  meaty  sorrel, 
which  I  noted  scornfully.  The  lady,  hoAvever,  sat  her  horse 
with  ease,  and  I  half-wondered  whether  she  were  not 
Southern  born. 

The  company  paused  at  the  forks,  and  I  could  hear 
them  discussing  the  route  they  were  to  take.  I  gathered 
that  one  they  called  "  General,"  with  the  ladies  and  some 
others  of  the  party,  had  come  to  spend  a  few  days  at  the 
camp  of  the  engineers  and  review  the  scenes  of  former  ex- 
ploits. The  spectacled  officer  was  in  favor  of  taking  the 
southern  road  and  started  along  it  with  the  young  lady 
under  his  charge.  After  going  a  little  way  they  paused 
and  waited  the  decision  of  the  otliers.  The  day  was  sultry 
and  the  blistering  three  o'clock  sun  looked  down  on  an  al- 
most breathless  plain.  While  tliey  halted  the  lady  took 
off  her  hat  and  fanned  herself  with  its  wide  brim.  As  she 
did  so  a  coil  of  dark  hair  fell  down  upon  her  shoulders  as 
she  sat  with  her  back  towards  me.  I  noticed  that  her  horse 
seemed  restive,  tossing  his  head  and  2)awing  tlie  ground. 
The  question  of  their  route  was  settled  by  the  general's 
starting  toward  the  pass  to  the  westward  and  calling  the 
others  to  follow.  As  they  rode  away  I  noticed  a  mass  of 
white  thunder  clouds  creeping  up  behind  the  mountain  to 
the  south  of  the  pass,  just  in  the  path  of  the  blazing  sun. 


EIGHTY- NINE.  149 

I  laughed  to  think  how  one  of  our  sudden  showers  would 
soon  send  them  dripping  and  draggled  to  the  old  church 
for  shelter.  I  could  almost  hear  them  pounding  along  the 
corduroy  road  in  their  enforced  retreat.  But  if  they  came 
to  the  old  church,  where  should  I  find  refuge  ?  My  leafy 
grotto  was  well  enough  while  the  sun  shone,  but  a  poor 
shelter  from  the  rain.  The  thought  annoyed  me  and  kept 
my  mind  running  on  what  I  had  seen.  It  was  curious  that 
I  was  able  to  recall  the  appearance  of  but  one  of  the  ladies. 
Of  the  others  I  could  only  remember  that  their  habits  were 
blue — they  may  have  varied  in  shade,  but  they  were  blue. 
For  this  one,  her  habit — what  was  its  color  ?  I  was  sure 
it  was  not  blue.  The  hat  was  black  ;  of  that  I  was  cer- 
tain.    And  the  horse  ? 

Someliow  it  pleased  me,  this  attempt  to  piece  out  my 
memory.  I  had  noted  little  and  guessed  rather  than  re- 
membered that  she  must  be  young,  and  fair  rather  than 
beautiful.  Fiirther  I  could  not  go.  Habit  and  feature 
seemed  curiously  to  elude  my  recollection.  Her  hair  I 
knew  was  dark  and  abundant.  The  horse  she  rode  was 
much  more  distinct  in  my  mind  though  I  had  not  con- 
sciously scrutinized  him.  But  his  full  eye,  strong  bony 
head,  long  neck  and  deep  but  firm-drawn  quarter,  made  a 
picture  no  lover  of  the  horse  could  fail  to  note,  of  which, 
to  a  casual  observer,  the  young  girl  upon  the  saddle, 
however  fair,  would  be  only  an  incident.  Indeed,  one 
almost  regretted  that  the  flowing  drapery  concealed  the 


150  EIGHTY. NINE. 

burnished  coat.  As  I  thought  of  this,  it  occurred  to  me 
that  her  habit  was  of  the  color  ordinarily  known  as  cadet 
gray,  only  a  shade  removed  from  that  worn  by  the  officers 
of  the  Confederate  army.  I  remembered  that  it  was  slashed 
with  black  and  ornamented  with  buttonS;,  and  that  the  hat 
was  a  plain  felt,  with  a  long  drooping  plume.  The  picture 
was  not  an  unpleasant  one ;  and  as,  one  after  another,  I 
evolved  its  details  from  my  memory,  my  heart  warmed  to 
the  rider  of  the  noble  horse,  whose  costume  was  so  closely 
modeled  upon  that  wliich  must  ever  be  cherished  by  the 
Southern  people  as  a  memento  of  a  glorious  epoch.  **  Con- 
federate gray  "  became  not  so  much  a  national  coior  as  a 
shroud  of  holy  memories  which  profane  hands  miglit  not 
touch. 

As  this  thought  came  uppermost  in  my  mind,  it 
flashed  upon  me  that  the  habit  miglit  liave  been  aaopted 
in  derision — as  a  taunt  to  a  conquered  people.  At  once 
the  half  remembered  face  grew  hateful.  The  horse  I 
would  have  sworn  was  of  southern  blood — perhaps  a  cap- 
tive forced  to  bear  the  daughter  of  a  conqueror.  If  so, 
how  must  not  he  despise  his  present  task.  He  that  had 
faced  the  glare  of  battle  and  felt  the  shock  of  onslaught,  hoAv 
must  he  not  chafe  at  being  made  the  pet  and  plaything  of 
a  conqueror's  favorite  ! 

All  at  once  my  heart  stood  still  !  She  that  rode  and 
all  that  was  about  nie  faded  from  my  mind .  I  saw  only 
the  horse — that  grand,  deep-throated  chestnut  with  his 
eves  of  llame,  mnsc^les  of  iron  and  heart  as  fearless  as  th" 


EIGHTY. NINE.  151 

lion's  !  The  level  landscape  disappeared.  The  summer 
flame  died  out.  Cool,  spring  breezes  fanned  my  brow  ;  the 
scent  of  the  blossoming  wild-grape  Avas  in  my  nostrils  ;  the 
shadow  of  the  mountain  road  was  about  me  and  I  heard 
again  my  father's  voice  ! 

The  thought  choked  me.  I  clambered  up  the  parapet 
and  gazed  eagerly  along  the  road  they  had  taken.  My 
father's  horse  !  It  seemed  as  if  he  himself  stood  beside  me 
— touched  me — called  me  by  name,  sent  a  dying  message 
to  me  ! 

Know  him  ?  How  my  heart  beat  at  the  question  !  I 
would  have  known  him  among  a  thousand  in  the  desert 
wilds,  aye,  even  in  the  city's  streets  disguised  by  draft  and 
burden.  Had  I  dreamed  that  he  yet  lived ,  I  would  have 
hunted  the  world  over  rather  than  he  should  have  been  a 
captive.  Yet  he  was  a  captive.  I  remembered  how  the 
brand  stood  out  upon  his  flank  as  they  passed  by.  How 
the  hated  letters  marred  his  silky  coat — '^TJ.  S." — badge 
of  shame  and  profanation  ! 

An  hour  before  I  would  have  given  anything  to  obtain 
possession  of  him— to  have  known  even  that  he  lived. 
Now  he  was  forever  disgraced.  I  spurned  him  because  he 
was  not  dead.  My  father's  war  horse  with  the  brand  of 
captivity  upon  him  !  I  could  not  bear  the  thought.  I 
did  not  envy  his  northern  mistress  her  possession.  I  only 
hated  him  for  having  lived  to  serve  his  master's  conqueror. 
I  hated  him  that  he  did  not  die  when  his  master  fell — that 


152  EIGHTY-NINE. 

maggots  were  not  eating  him  on  the  Virginia  battle-field  ! 
I  wished  that  he  might  die — that  I  might  kill  him  ! 

No  doubt  the  doll-faced  creature  whom  he  carried 
boasted  that  her  steed  had  belonged  to  the  leader  of  that 
last  gallant  charge.  I  could  have  pitied  Bucephalus  trans- 
formed into  a  cart-horse  ;  but  my  father's  charger  as  a 
liidy's  pet — his  mistress  the  child  of  an  enemy  !  The 
thought  heated  my  blood  to  madness.  Almost  uncon- 
sciously I  began  to  plan  his  destruction. 

I  had  grown  tall  and  strong-limbed  during  the  years 
of  conflict.  My  father  had  resembled  his  father  in  appear- 
ance. I  was  like  my  grandmother,  and  had  been  noted 
from  boyhood  for  strength  of  arui.  Perhaps  her  fondness 
for  me  was  in  a  measure  due  to  my  resemblance  to  her 
father,  Avho  was  said  to  have  been  the  strongest  man  in  all 
the  region  round.  As  I  strode  back  and  forth  aloug  the 
parapet,  muttering  imprecations  at  the  senseless  beast  that 
had  aroused  my  anger,  almost  unconsciously  I  took  out  my 
knife  and  cut  a  hickory  sapling  that  had  shot  thick  and 
stocky  from  the  heaped-up  earth.  I  remember  thinking, 
as  I  forced  the  keen  blade  through  the  white  fiber,  how  I 
would  like  to  bury  it  in  the  throat  of  the  recreant  beast, 
and  see  his  blood  flow  after  it — the  base  blood  that  had 
dared  to  stay  in  his  veins  after  his  master  fell.  T  cut  the 
stick  and  shaped  it  for  a  staff.  Wliy.  I  did  not  know.  I 
had  long  since  discarded  a  cane  with  that  contempt  youth 
has  of  weakness.     I  trimmed  it  carefullv  and  rounded  the 


EIGHTT-NINE.  153 

end  to  fit  the  hand.  The  wide  white  grain  showed  its 
quick  growth  and  attested  its  toughness.  AVhat  did  I 
mean  to  do  with  it  ?     I  did  not  ask  myself  the  question. 

Thinking  only  of  the  horse  I  would  have  worshiped 
as  an  idol,  could  he  have  come  to  us  directly  from  his 
master's  grave,  I  had  forgotten  to  notice  anything  about 
me  until  a  vivid  flash,  followed  by  a  peal  of  thunder 
that  echoed  and  re-echoed  among  the  peaks,  startled  me 
from  my  abstraction.  The  sun  was  blotted  out,  and  the 
pass  was  black  with  lieaped-up  clouds,  along  the  face  of 
which  the  lightning  played.  I  heard  a  cry — a  shout,  and 
saw  a  cloud  of  dust  on  the  road  that  led  through  the 
pass.  It  rose  up,  white  and  feathery  against  the  inky  sky. 
The  breath  of  the  coming  storm  caught  it  and  whirled  it 
against  the  dark  green  side  of  the  mountain  on  the  north. 
I  looked  on  with  grim  enjoyment,  as  I  thought  how  fast 
the  gay  company  of  northern  sight-seers  fled  before  a 
southern  storm.     Again  a  cry — or  was  it  a  shriek  ? 

Looking  over  the  billows  of  wind-beaten  oaks  I  could 
Just  see  the  figure  of  a  woman  clinging  to  the  back  of  a  fly- 
ing steed.  Her  habit  was  streaming  out  behind  ;  a  black 
plume  was  tossing  in  the  wind.  Far  in  the  rear,  lashing  on 
their  straining  steeds,  came  one,  two — a  half  dozen  pursuers. 
It  was  a  hopeless  race.  Those  coarse -haired  mongrels 
might  as  well  try  to  catch  the  wind  as  to  overtake  that 
clean-limbed,  deep-chested  southern  horse  of  royal  pedi- 
gree.    My  heart  exulted    in  his  prowess,  but  I  hated  him 


154  EIGHTY- NINE. 

all  the  more  that  he  should  wear  the  fetters  of  a  silken 
captivity. 

I  looked  again.  It  was  no  race  for  shelter.  The 
horse  had  broken  away  from  his  rider.  I  exulted  in  the 
idea  that  he  was  making  a  dash  for  liberty,  and  gave  no 
thought  to  his  imi)erilled  rider.  The  storm  came  swifter 
than  the  steed,  and  its  wild  breath  tossed  up  the  branches 
of  the  oak  that  grew  beside  the  parapet  so  that  1  could 
not  see  the  road.  A  mad  idea  seized  me — a  wild  longing 
to  destroy  ! 

I  sprang  from  the  parapet  and  started  towards  the 
road.  Whether  I  walked  or  ran  I  knew  not ;  it  was  barely 
fifty  yards  away,  and  there  was  time  enough  for  either.  A 
thick  clump  of  mingled  oaks  and  chinquapins,  high 
enough  for  concealment  yet  affording  opportunity  for  ob- 
servation through  their  branches,  lined  the  roadside  at  this 
point.  I  Judged  the  horse  would  take  the  way  by  which 
he  came,  and  so  pass  close  to  this  leafy  covert,  I  remem- 
ber standing  with  my  arm  drawn  back  ;  the  clean  hickory 
bludgeon  I  had  cut,  reversed  ;  my  hand  clasping  the  small- 
er end  until  the  nails  cut  into  the  flesh  of  the  palm  made 
soft  by  sickness  and  sloth.  The  wind  had  blown  away 
my  hat.  My  coat  was  lying  on  the  bench  in  the  arbor.  I 
must  have  rolled  up  my  sleeve  as  I  crossed  the  intervening 
space,  for  I  remember  that  my  right  arm  was  bare  almost 
to  the  shoulder.  The  wind  blew  the  hair  into  my  eyes. 
I  shook  it  out  not  thinking  that  I  could  use  a  hand.     I  had 


EIQHTT-NINE.  155 

but  one  thought — to  chitch  and  kill  the  horse  which  would 
soon  pass  within  my  reach  ! 

I  heard  the  clatter  of  hoofs  upon  the  rough  corduroy, 
coming  momently  nearer  and  nearer.  Presently,  through 
an  opening  in  the  fluttering  leaves,  I  saw  the  hot  eyes  and 
blood-red  nostrils  of  the  straining  horse,  and  the  pallid 
features  of  his  rider  framed  in  black  and  gray  above.  I 
laughed  to  think  of  her  attempting  to  control  the  horse 
my  father  had  selected  especially  for  his  power.  She  might 
as  well  have  tried  to  turn  a  steamship.  She  evidently 
realized  this  fact  and  was  making  no  eifort  to  direct  his 
movements.  Despite  the  hatred  that  had  grown  up  in  my 
heart,  I  could  not  but  admire  the  courage  and  self-control 
she  displayed.  Aware  of  the  futility  of  any  effort,  she  yet 
did  nothing  to  enhance  her  danger.  There  were  no  screams 
— only  the  set,  intense  watchfulness  showed  with  what  care 
she  sought  to  maintain  her  seat.  If  she  had  been  a  better 
horsewoman",  this  would  have  been  a  matter  of  no  difficulty, 
for  he  bore  her  as  lightly  as  a  feather.  As  she  came  nearer 
I  could  see  that  the  skirt  of  the  habit  had  been  caught 
and  torn,  and  the  ragged  strips  were  flying  back  from  the 
horse's  side.  I  rejoiced  that  the  cursed  thing  was  torn. 
Perhaps  I  stepped  a  little  forward  in  my  excitement.  At 
least  I  must  have  disclosed  my  presence  in  some  manner, 
for  the  horse  was  nearly  fifty  yards  away  when  the  rider 
let  fall  into  my  heart  as  it  were,  a  look  of  wild  entreaty. 

I  know  not  what  answer  mine  made,  if  any,  but  at  this 


156  EIGHTY-NINE. 

mute  appeal  I  forgot  the  horse  in  pity  for  the  rider.  It 
was  but  an  instant.  Then  came  again  the  wild  desire  to 
slay.  The  iron  hoofs  consumed  the  intervening  distance 
like  a  flash.  The  glaring  eyes  came  rushing  on  as  if  a 
thunderbolt  were  behind.  I  noted  every  detail — the  silky 
forelock  parted  and  flying  backward  in  the  wind,  the  shin- 
ing whorl  in  the  center  of  the  forehead,  the  one  white  spot 
hardly  bigger  than  a  dime  that  I  remembered  on  the  black 
muzzle.  I  scanned  the  reins,  saw  how  they  were  attached, 
and  determined  where  I  would  fix  my  hold.  The  low 
outstretched  neck  brought  the  red  nostrils  and  bony  head 
nearer  still.  It  seemed  as  if  I  might  almost  touch  them, 
but  I  did  not  move.  Nearer  and  nearer.  I  glanced  up  at 
the  rider.  She  seemed  rushing  down  upon  me — the  pale 
face  and  staring  eyes  full  of  piteous  pleading  I 

I  had  judged  my  distance  and  formed  my  plans. 
When  the  whorl  on  his  forehead  showed  just  beneath  the 
outer  limb  of  the  nearest  chinquapin  I  sprang  forward. 
There  was  a  blow — a  shock — a  feeling  of  helpless  projec- 
tion through  infinite  space — a  sense  of  falling,  with  dark 
accusing  eyes  and  a  drawn  pallid  face  above  I  Then  came 
the  shock  of  an  incumbent  mass — then  darkness 


CHAPTER  XYII. 

The  night  that  followed  was  full  of  harsh  and 
painful  dreams.  When  I  finally  awoke,  it  was  to  find 
myself  strapped  to  an  iron  bedstead  in  a  plain,  rough- 
boarded  room,  which  yet  displayed  evidences  of  comfort  and 
refinement.  My  right  leg  felt  stiff  and  cold  and  seemed  held 
to  a  frame  by  a  curious  straining  force.  I  learned  after- 
wards that  a  weight  of  two  hundred  pounds  was  attached 
to  it.  It  seemed  to  be  broken  from  hip  to  toe.  I  was  yet 
to  learn  that  a  fracture  of  the  neck  of  the  femur — that  bit 
of  springy  bone  which  Joins  hip  and  thigh  together  and  keeps 
man  upright — was  the  most  serious  of  my  hurts.  This  was 
no  light  matter,  but  I  did  not  speculate  about  my  injuries 
or  what  caused  them,  at  that  time.  The  chill,  the  strain 
and  a  terrible  longing  for  a  change  of  position  were  the  only 
sensations  of  which  I  was  conscious.  My  left  hand  and 
head  were  free — all  the  rest,  body,  shoulders,  limbs  were 
strapped  fast. 

As  I  struggled  to  move,  a  curtain  was  pushed  aside 
and  an  attendant  entered  noiselessly.  He  wore  a  dark  blue 
blouse,  short,  scant,  and  ill-fitting,  with  light-blue  trousers 
— the  uniform  which  Yankee  economy  has  devised  to  mor- 
tify the  pride  and  degrade  the  manhood  of  the  Federal  sol- 
dier. Such  is  the  dread  of  war  among  that  curious  people, 
157 


158  EIGHTY-NINE. 

that  it  is  regarded  as  good  statesmanship  to  make  the  soldier 
ashamed  of  his  occupation,  so  that  only  the  most  nnf  ortiinate 
and  degraded  of  their  population  will  enter  the  army  except 
as  officers,  and  even  they  are  ashamed  to  Avear  their  uniforms 
save  when  on  duty.  They  seem  utterly  oblivious  to  the  fact 
that  the  safety  of  the  republic  depends  on  a  universal  and 
ever  active  military  spirit.  The  regular  army  of  the  United 
States,  before  the  War  for  Separation,  was  made  up  almost 
entirely  of  foreign  mercenaries,  officered  by  Southern  gen- 
tlemen. Even  in  that  struggle  a  large  jDroportion  of  their 
most  efficient  leaders  were  renegade  Southerners,  and  the 
most  efficient  of  the  rank  and  file  of  foreign  birth.  At  the 
outbreak  of  tluit  war,  the  South  had  probably  more  officers 
than  privates  botli  in  the  army  and  the  navy. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  our  new  republic  will  bear  in 
mind  the  fact  that  her  army  must  be  organized  upon  tlie 
French,  rather  than  tiie  English  ideal,  if  it  is  to  be  relied 
upon  in  great  emergencies.  The  white  man  of  the  South 
is  not  purely  mercenary  in  his  instincts  like  his  congener 
of  the  North.  With  us,  the  sense  of  honor  very  often  en- 
tirely overrides  the  consideration  of  profit.  The  North 
hires  its  private  soldiery  to  endure  its  scorn.  As  a  conse- 
quence it  pays  the  highest  wages  ;  gets  the  poorest  service  ; 
has  the  largest  percentage  of  desertions  of  any  military  or- 
ganization in  the  Avorld,  and,  in  the  event  of  war,  finds 
its  regular  army  infinitely  below  its  volunteer  force  in  the 
morale  of  its  rank  and  file.     Let  my  countrymen  remember 


EIGHTY-NINE.  159 

that  lionor  and  opportunity  will  win  the  best  men  to  en- 
gage in  the  humblest  service,  which  is  thereby  exalted  to 
the  highest  dignity.  I  sincerely  trust  that  no  man  will  be 
allowed  to  wear  the  emblems  of  rank  in  our  Southern  army, 
who  has  not  first  worn  the  garb  of  the  private  and  won  his 
way  above  the  ranks  by  length  of  service,  attested  acquire- 
ment or  approved  conduct.  By  this  means  we  shall  always 
have  an  army  of  gentlemen,  inspired  to  do  the  utmost  that 
valor  can  achieve. 

This  will  be  all  the  easier  to  effect  from  the  fact  that 
the  inferior  race  will  always  furnish  a  host  of  mercenaries, 
who  can  be  relied  upon  for  the  more  menial  phases  of 
the  service.  I  know  such  counsel  contravenes  the  feelings 
and  prejudices  of  our  people,  but  I  feel  assured  that  a 
thoughtful  consideration  of  unalterable  facts  will  enable 
them  to  see  the  wisdom  of  such  a  course.  It  is  essential 
above  all  things  that  the  new  republic,  if  it  is  to  maintain 
its  dignity  and  power,  should  harmonize  not  only  the 
interests  but  the  inclinations  of  the  two  races  within 
her  borders.  She  needs  to  stimulate  the  efforts  and 
aspirations  of  both  to  the  very  utmost  to  hold  her  place 
abreast  of  other  nationalities.  By  constituting  her  army 
of  two  great  contingents  equal  in  pay  and  equipment,  the 
rank  and  file  of  one  to  be  of  the  inferior  race,  officered  at 
first  by  promotion  from  the  white  soldier}^,  and  afterwards 
its  honors  made  a  reward  for  intelligence,  capacity  and 
devotion  among  its  own  rank  and  file,  its  officers,  whether 


160  EIGHTY-NINE. 

black  or  white,  to  be  always  junior  to  those  of  like  grade 
in  the  white  corps,  it  is  possible  to  unite  the  best  aspirations 
of  both  races  in  support  of  lier  power -and  glory. 

The  problem  is  not  without  difficulty,  but  touching  as  it 
does  the  very  life  of  the  new  nation,  is  certain  to  command 
the  immediate  attention  of  our  people.  Such  a  policy  was 
impossible  under  the  old  government  because  of  the  curi- 
ously fanciful  construction  given  under  it  to  the  dogma  of 
equality.  In  the  Federal  army  a  colored  officer  Avas  liable 
to  be  assigned  to  the  command  of  white  troops  without  re- 
gard to  his  rank,  wliile  the  white  officer  felt  degraded  by 
assignment  to  a  colored  corps.  In  truth,  such  was  the 
curious  fear  of  recognizing  the  fact  of  race  or  color,  that 
instead  of  offering  to  them  the  spur  of  promotion  in  a  col- 
ored contingent,  the  negro,es  were  treated  simply  as  servile 
mercenaries.  By  the  plan  outlined  above,  a  colored  subal- 
tern would  never  be  in  command  of  white  troops,  and  if  one, 
by  long  service,  good  conduct  and  marked  ability,  should 
perchance  reach  the  higher  grades,  his  capacity  and  attain- 
ments would  be  so  pronounced  as  to  command  confidence  of 
all  and  so  silence  every  feeling  of  insubordination.  Such  an 
event  is  not  likely  to  happen  in  this  generation  unless  in  a 
case  of  such  phenomenal  capacity  as  to  secure  universal  ap- 
proval. The  details  of  the  plan  would  have  to  be  worked  out 
with  care,  but  the  experience  of  the  Knights  of  the  Southern 
Cross  proves  it  to  be  not  only  feasible  but  eminently  adapt- 


EIGHTY-NINE.  161 

ed  to  the  end  in  view — the  unification  of  the  interests  of 
the  two  races. 

My  surprise  had  hardly  time  to  shape  itself  into  dis- 
gust, when,  as  my  attendant  drew  aside  the  curtain,  my 
eyes  fell  upon  a  scene  so  familiar  as  to  make  me  wonder  if 
what  I  saw  was  not  a  dream  and  my  painful  confinement 
only  some  horrid  nightmare.  The  oaks,  through  which  the 
morning  sunlight  streamed,  seemed  the  very  ones  that  stood 
before  my  chamber  window  in  my  father's  house.  I  was 
not  mistaken.  The  camp,  in  the  hospital  of  which  I  was 
lying,  had  been  located  on  the  sightly  hill  where  the  ashes 
of  "The  Grove  "still  showed  through  the  rank-growing 
weeds.  The  rent  the  government  had  been  paying  for  the 
premises  since  the  establishment  of  the  garrison  at  this 
point  after  hostilities  had  ceased,  had  been  the  main  sup- 
port of  my  mother's  thrifty  enterprise.  So  the  enemy's 
subsequent  need  partially  repaired  his  previous  acts  of 
wanton  destruction. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  detail  the  incidents  of  my  recov- 
ery. Two  days  of  an  imprisonment  that  lasted  until  the 
leaves  upon  the  oaks  were  brown  and  sere,  had  passed, 
when  I  first  became  conscious  of  my  surroundings.  All 
before  that  was  a  troubled  void.  Anesthetics  and  ano- 
dynes had  kindly  prolonged  the  darkness  that  attended 
syncope.  I  had  rescued  the  general's  daughter  from 
death — so  said  my  garrulous  but  attentive  nurse — and  had 
been  brought  to   the  hospital  more  dead  than  alive.     I 


162  EIGHTY-NINE. 

made  no  inquiry  about  the  general  or  his  daughter  simply 
because  I  cared  nothing  about  either.  In  fact,  I  hardly 
realized  to  what  his  words  referred.  My  apathy  made  no 
difference  with  his  garrulity.  He  went  on  to  tell  me,  while 
he  busied  himself  in  relieving  my  pain,  how  the  Avhole  sur- 
gical force  of  the  military  department  had  been  taxed  to 
ensure  my  recovery.  The  medical  director,  the  hospital 
surgeon  and  the  local  practitioners  liad  all  been  engaged 
upon  the  case.  Our  old  family  physician  liad  recognized 
me  and  from  him  my  identity  had  first  been  learned.  An 
ambulance  was  at  once  dispatched  for  my  mother  and  quar- 
ters assigned  her  at  the  camp  by  the  general's  express 
orders.  The  attendant  evidently  expected  me  to  be  over- 
powered by  this  graciousness,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  me 
at  all  strange.  Indeed,  I  could  sec  no  reason  why  I  should 
not  be  there  or  why  my  mother  should  be  elsewhere.  I  had 
been  injured,  but  how  or  by  whom  I  had  no  idea  nor  e/en 
curiosity  enough  to  ask.  He  said  the  horse  was  undoubt- 
edly mad.  He  had  taken  a  long  journey  by  rail  while  in 
high  condition.  The  heat  and  the  dust,  with  the  noise  and 
jar  of  the  train,  had  induced  a  congested  state  of  the  brain 
and  predisposed  him  to  madness. 

He  employed  the  medical  terms  which  he  had  no 
doubt  heard  the  surgeons  use  in  discussing  the  matter. 
His  language  struck  me  as  singular  and  I  wondered  what 
he  meant.  What  had  I  to  do  with  "the  horse  "  or  "  the 
horse"  with  me  ?    I  must  liave  dozed  while  ho  droned  on. 


EIGHTY-NINE  163 

I  was  bruised  and  full  of  pain,  but  he  still  talked  about 
"the  horse,"  while  he  loosened  the  straps  by  which  I  was 
bound  ;  chafed  my  limbs  and  shifted  my  position  by  chang- 
ing the  location  of  certain  hard  httle  pads  or  cushions  with 
which  I  became  very  familiar  during  the  weeks  that  fol- 
lowed. The  relief  I  felt  was  instant  and  delightful.  As  I 
half-slept  and  half-listened  to  his  words,  one  thought  was 
in  my  mind  and  I  kept  muttering  to  myself  ; 

"The  horse!     The  horse  !  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  my  attendant  approvingly,  "  it  was  a 
great  pity,  for  he  was  the  finest  lioss  in  tlie  department — 
by  all  odds  the  finest — and  never  the  least  ugly  before. 
Some  says  it  was  the  whipping.  You  see,  sir,"  (he  pro- 
nounced it  "  sorr,"  which  struck  me  as  odd  ;  I  supposed  it 
a  Yankeeism,  then),  "you  see,  sorr,  he  wasn't  used  to 
it.  The  lieutenant  feels  proper  bad  about  advising  it,  but 
the  doctors  say  it  only  hastened  the  crisis  a  little." 

It  was  curious  that  I  felt  no  interest  in  what  he  said, 
and  had  no  thought  that  it  had  any  relation  to  myself. 

"  But  that  was  a  nate  blow  ye  gave  him  and  a  nate 
Ijit  of  a  stick  that  ye  did  it  with  too,  sorr,"  he  continued  as 
he  lifted  my  right  arm  so  that  the  blood  might  circulate 
through  its  veins.  "  Sure,  there's  no  lack  of  muscle  here  " 
— he  ran  his  hand  back  and  forth  on  my  bare  arm  as  he 
spoke — "'  but  one  wouldn't  expect  anything  so  soft  to  give 
such  a  killin'  blow,  just  in  the  right  spot  too.  The  doctors 
say  it's  wonderful,  sorr,  quite  wonderful.     They  say  the 


164  EIGHTY-NINE. 

teuth  of  a  second  or  a  quarter  of  an  inch  miscalculation, 
and  instead  of  killing  the  horse  and  saving  the  young  lady 
you'd  both  been  killed.  For  that  matter  it  was  touch  and 
go,  any  way,  with  you.  He  couldn't  have  served  you  much 
worse  if  you  hadn't  killed  him,  though  of  course  it  might 
have  been  bad  for  the  lady." 

"Killed  the  horse? — killed  the  horse?"  I  repeated 
dully. 

"Yes,  sorr,  killed  him  fast  enough,"  said  the  nurse, 
"and  by  the  same  token  his  name  was  '  Secession,' and 
by  good  rights  he  ought  to  have  been  dead  long  ago." 

"  Secession  !  Secession  !  " 

It  all  flashed  upon  me  then. 

"  Did  I  kill  him  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Faith,  that  you  did,  sorr,  as  dead  as  a  mackerel." 

"'  Thank  God  !  " 

"  Indeed,  sorr,  that's  what  the  young  lady  said,  and 
good  reason  slie  had  to  thank  the  Lord  and  you  too,  as  no 
doubt  she  will  as  soon  as  she  knows  you're  able  to  under- 
stand what  she  says  ;  but  I  don't  see  that  you've  any  special 
reason  to  be  grateful,  unless  it  is  for  the  chance  of  saving 
her.  An'  in  faith  a  man  with  all  his  seven  senses  about 
him  might  do  worse  than  risk  his  life  for  the  likes  of  her." 

Despite  his  enthusiasm,  for  the  young  lady,  I  was 
grateful  only  that  I  had  killed  the  horse  she  had  ridden. 

It  was  a  curious  experience,  those  long  weeks  of  con- 
finement, strapped  hand  and  foot,  or  rather  body  and  limb. 


EIGHTY. NINE.  165 

to  the  iron  bedstead,  with  that  terrible  weight  tugging  night 
and  day  at  the  broken  leg.  I  had  other  hurts,  but  this  was 
the  most  serious,  and  it  was  essential  that  I  be  kept  from 
any  involuntary  movement  of  trunk  or  limb  until  the  frac- 
tured bone  had  knitted  solidly  together.  It  was  my  only 
hope,  and  with  youth  and  health  on  my  side  the  chances 
were  in  my  favor.  The  ordeal  was  not  a  light  one.  1 
had  the  best  of  care,  however,  and  was  soon  surprised  to 
find  myself  enjoying  the  society  of  those  who  wore  the  uni- 
form I  hated.  Perhaps  this  was  in  part  due  to  the  cordial 
praise  the  officers  of  the  garrison  bestowed  upon  my  act. 
It  w'as  hardly  strange  that  I  flushed  with  pleasure  when 
these  men,  almost  every  one  of  whom  bore  visible  tokens  of 
the  courage  he  had  displayed  npon  the  field  of  battle, 
called  my  act  heroic  and  spoke  in  laudatory  terms  of  the 
strength  and  address  it  must  have  required.  I  felt  their 
commendation  to  be  jiraise  indeed.  My  mother  Avas  with 
me  every  day.  Friends,  old  and  young,  dropped  in  to  see 
me  and  I  soon  became  a  link  between  the  city's  life  and 
that  of  the  garrison  of  w^hich  I  had  unwittingly  become  a 
part. 

Of  course,  the  general  and  his  danghter  were  anxious 
to  express  their  gratitude  for  her  deliverance.  I  avoided 
the  interview  as  long  as  I  could,  and  would  have  been  re- 
moved on  purpose  to  escape  from  it,  if  I  had  not  been  as- 
sured that  removal  w'as  impossible  until  the  bojie  was 
firmly  knitted.     My  mother  was  greatly  annoyed  at  what 


166  EIGHTY.  NINE. 

she  termed  my  foolish  shyness.  She  did  not  know  how  I 
dreaded  the  alternative  of  accepting  their  gratitude  or  con- 
fessing the  truth.  vShe  had  been  the  guest  of  the  general's 
daughter  since  my  mishap,  and  was  enthusiastic  in  her 
praise.  When  I  could  defer  the  ordeal  no  longer  they 
came.  There  was  very  little  said — so  little  that  I  had,  or 
thought  I  had,  no  opportunity  to  proclaim  the  truth. 
Perhaps  such  things  are  never  quite  convenient.  I  began 
to  wonder  if  it  were  not  possible  to  avoid  it  altogether. 
The  daughter  had  been  saved  by  my  act  ;  Avas  it  necessary 
that  I  should  avow  the  intent  that  really  inspired  it  ? 

The  general  referred  to  it  as  a  deed  worthy  of  my 
father's  son,  and  seemed  to  think  there  could  be  no  higher 
praise.  There  was  nothing  that  could  have  given  me  so 
much  pleasure.  The  daughter  uttered  some  quiet  expres- 
sions of  gratitude  and — that  was  all.  I  was  glad  they  said 
no  more  and  ashamed  that  I  had  not  avowed  the  truth. 

After  that  she  came  often — sometimes  sitting  with  my 
mother,  occasionally  relieving  her  in  her  watch  at  my  bed- 
side. I  came  at  length  to  expect  and  enjoy  her  presence, 
despite  the  horrible  thought  that  I  was  deceiving  her  by  my 
silence,  and  receiving  her  graceful  attentions  for  an  act  I 
never  intended  to  perform.  A  thousand  times  I  determined 
to  confess  the  truth,  but  was  never  able  to  begin  the 
humiliating  task. 

So  the  weeks  dragged  by.  When  I  was  able  to  ride 
in  an  ambulance,   upon  a  bed  specially  designed  by  the 


EIGHTY-NINE.  167 

ingenious  surgeon,  slie  often  sat  beside  me.  In  this  way 
we  rode  about  the  valley,  and  thus  attended  I  returned  to 
Ryalmont.  Yefc  her  presence  gave  even  more  pain  than 
pleasure.  Had  I  not  won  whatever  place  I  held  in  her 
esteem  by  falsehood  ?  Nevertheless  the  world  had  changed 
wonderfully  to  my  eyes  since  I  sat  in  the  angle  of  the  old 
earthwork,  and  saw  the  gay  party  ride  by.  Before  I  even 
dared  to  tempt  disaster  ])y  the  use  of  a  crutch,  my  brain 
was  teeming  with  wild  ambitious  schemes.  My  mother 
had  no  more  need  to  urge  but  rather  to  restrain.  I  was 
burning  to  rival  in  achievement  the  father  to  whom  I  had 
oeen  so  fortunate  as  to  be  compared  in  courage.  That  com- 
mendation at  least  I  could  rightfully  and  honestly  accept. 
The  motive  did  not  detract  fi-om  tlie  coolness  and  courage 
required  to  perform  the  act.  Yet,  after  all,  it  was  the 
motive  rather  than  the  act  that  inspired  the  praise  of  which 
I  was  so  greedy.  I  did  not  like  to  speculate  ujjon  the  mat- 
ter, but  determined  that  I  would  thereafter  deserve  the 
praise  that  had  been  so  generously  accorded. 

Had  I  known  all  these  weary  weeks  that  I  was  the 
personal  guest  of  the  general,  my  chagrin  would  have  been 
unendurable.  I  not  only  had  the  notion  which  is  prevalent 
among  my  countrymen  in  regard  to  the  mercenary  charac- 
ter of  the  Yankee,  but  was  quite  ignorant  of  that  inflexible 
system  by  which  modern  armies  are  subsisted.  I  had  re- 
garded myself,  whenever  I  thought  of  the  matter  at  all,  as 
somehow  supported  and  cared    for   at    public  expense — 


k;8  eighty- nine. 

merely  living  upon  the  superHuity  of  tlie  satrap  who  ruled 
onr  people.  I  did  not  dream  that  there  was  any  impro- 
priety in  tlius  billeting  me  upon  the  service  with  which 
he  was  connected,  and  if  such  a  thought  had  occurred  to 
me  I  should  hardly  have  deemed  it  out  of  character  in  a 
Yankee  general. 

The  truth  is  tliat  our  Nortliern  friends  have  boasted  so 
long  of  the  sharpness  and  slirewdness  to  which  they  at- 
tribute not  only  individual  success,  l)ut  the  general  pros- 
perity, that  they  have  only  themselves  to  blame  if  they 
are  regarded  as  a  nation  of  tricksters  by  whom  the  ability  to 
deceive  is  considered  tlie  most  desirable  of  attainments.  It  is 
hardly  strange  that  to  the  people  of  the  South,  the  Yankee 
and  the  Jew  should  stand  on  the  same  level  and  be  deemed 
alike  thrifty  traffickers,  Avho  have  souglit  their  own  advan- 
tage by  devious  ways  so  long  that  honor,  though  not  alto- 
gether unknown  among  them,  has  become  very  rare  and  is 
held  in  little  esteem.  I  suppose  this  feeling  reconciled  me 
to  the  acceptance  of  favors  I  would  otherwise  have  shrunk 
from  receiving  at  a  stranger's  hands. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Ryalmont  even  in  its  autnmn  garl)  was  beautiful.  The 
soft  October  haze  hung  about  the  hillsides.  The  gums 
and  maples  flamed  among  the  pines.  The  dogwood  flaunt- 
ed its  crimson  banner  among  the  russet  oaks.  The  dying 
year  had  never  seemed  so  beautiful  before,  for  my  long  ill- 
ness made  the  earth  appear  all  the  brighter  when  I  came  to 
look  upon  its  face.  Perhaps  the  fact  that  Edith  Fairbanks 
was  a  guest  at  Ryalmont  had  something  to  do  with  my 
enjoyment  of  the  season.  Fate  seemed  to  have  decreed 
that  we  should  not  l)e  separated.  Her  father  had  made  all 
his  preparations  to  return  north,  when  he  was  suddenly 
ordered  on  special  duty  to  New  Orleans.  He  expected  to 
be  absent  but  a  week — not  more  than  two  at  the  farthest. 
My  mother  invited  the  daughter  to  pass  the  interval  with 
us  at  Ryalmont.  It  was  Christmas  when  her  father  re- 
turned. My  convalescence  was  then  comjjlete.  How  could 
it  be  otherwise.  Love  had  been  my  nurse.  When  I  began 
to  try  the  shattered  limb,  it  was  ujjon  her  shoulder  that  I 
leaned.  Her  eyes  looked  up  to  mine  with  anxious  solicitude 
at  every  careful  step.  It  was  not  long  before  I  had  con- 
fessed my  fault,  told  the  story  of  my  foolish  hate,  and  been 
forgiven.  Then  I  confessed  another  passion  and  was  for- 
given that  also.  The  announcement  of  our  betrothal 
169 


1 70  EIGHTY-  NINE . 

awaited  only  her  father's  return.  It  hardly  needed  to  be 
announced.  Everybody  knew  that  we  were  lovers,  and  all 
had  a  kindly  interest  in  our  little  romance.  The  world  is 
always  kind  to  unassuming  love,  and  we  took  no  pains  to 
conceal  ours. 

Ryalmont  was  gayer  than  it  liad  been  for  years.  Of- 
ficers from  the  garrisoji  and  friends  from  the  city  came  to 
see  us  often.  My  mother  almost  forgot  her  soi'row  in 
duties  especially  congenial  to  her  nature.  Peace  had  come  ; 
prosperity  had  begun,  and  fortune  would  soon  follow.  80 
the  hours  flew  by  with  amazing  swiftness.  When  I  met 
General  Fairbanks  as  lie  alighted  drijjping  and  sleety  at  our 
door,  it  seemed  but  a  few  Aveeks  since  I  had  seen  him 
riding  thi-ough  the  valley,  witli  his  white  Panama  hat 
pressed  down  over  his  eyes  to  exclude  the  sunshine.  He  had 
come  for  the  daughter  wlio  was  already  domesticated  in 
our  hillside  home.  Would  tliis  grey-bearded,  firm-lipped 
soldier  approve  his  daughter's  choice,  or  was  my  brief 
dream  of  love  already  over — killed  by  the  frosts  of  a  single 
winter  ? 

General  Fairbanks  was  a  successful  manufacturer,  whom 
the  war  had  transformed  into  a  soldier.  The  regiment 
which  he  recruited  was  equipped  at  his  own  expense.  He  was 
made  its  colonel,  not  a  little  against  his  inclination,  and  in 
this  position  had  sliown  an  aptitude  for  war  liardly  inferior 
to  the  ability  displayed  in  his  private  affairs.  While  he 
fought  his  business  had  reaped  advantage  from  enhanced 


EIGHTY-NINE.  171 

prices,  which  more  than  compensated  him  for  the  sacrifices 
he  had  made.  He  was  justly  regarded  as  a  fine  type  of 
his  people — earnest,  brave  and  honest  ;  but  above  every- 
thing else  enterprising  and  successful.  He  was  somewhat 
past  middle  life,  and,  save  the  dowry  which  his  wife 
brought,  his  fortune  was  due  entirely  to  his  own  energies. 

He  was  a  splendid  specimen  of  physical  manhood.  In 
height  I  stood  above  him  a  hand's  breadth,  but,  as  I 
greeted  him  upon  the  porch,  I  felt  myself  a  pigmy  beside 
him.  He  was  not  large  even  for  his  height,  but  there  was 
an  air  of  power  about  him  as  he  sprang  from  his  horse,  and 
mounted  the  steps  in  the  pelting  storm,  careless  of  its 
force — not  as  if  seeking  shelter,  but  as  if  the  storm  was 
only  an  unpleasant  fact,  not  to  be  seriously  regarded  by  one 
having  a  man's  work  to  perform. 

It  is  chiefly  in  this  truly  regal  scorn  of  material  obsta- 
cles and  their  irrepressible  desire  for  accomplishing  what- 
ever they  undertake  that  the  people  of  the  North  are  our  su- 
periors. The  rage  for  achievement  is  so  universal  with  them 
that  they  have  ever  the  air  of  facing  difficulties  which  must 
be  overcome  witiiout  delay.  They  appear  always  to  be  going 
up  hill.  They  are  almost  universally  given  to  talking  of 
what  they  are  doing  or  about  to  do.  Our  people,  in  ex- 
changing greetings,  ask  after  one  another's  families  with 
pai'ticularity.  A  Northern  man's  first  inquiry  of  his  fel- 
low is  as  to  his  business.  It  is  not  so  much  self-asser- 
tion— for  they  are  really  a  modest   people,  more  given  to 


172  EIGHTY. NINE. 

doing  than  to  boasting — but  rather  the  natural  result  of  an 
approved  confidence  in  individual  power. 

In  dealing  with  material  problems,  and  especially  in 
individual  capacity  and  self-reliance,  the  Yankees  are  un- 
rivalled by  any  people  in  history.  They  have  skill  to  de- 
vise, courage  to  undertake,  and  fortitude  to  perform  all 
that  is  possible  and  many  things  that  seem  impossible.  As 
business  men  they  are  the  most  enterprising  and  dauntless 
that  the  world  has  ever  known.  They  have  no  distrust  of 
their  own  conclusions,  and  no  fear  of  unforseen  contingen- 
cies. Strange' as  it  may  seem,  the  same  influences  have 
developed  a  people  collectively  the  weakest  and  politically 
the  most  truckling,  whimsical  and  unstable,  that  ever 
held  the  reins  of  power.  Individual  self-reliance  seems  so 
prodigiously  developed  that  confidence  in  public  integrity, 
wisdom  and  official  unselfishness,  has  become  impossible. 
They  are  not.  in  fact,  a  people  at  all,  but  a  mere  aggrega- 
tion of  units,  having  only  one  thing  in  common — an  un- 
doubting  confidence,  each  in  his  OAvn  inteJlectual  conclu- 
sions, and  an  almost  equally  impregnable  conviction  in  the 
sharpness,  selfishness  and  lack  of  principle  of  the  others. 
Confidence  in  himself  makes  each  one  bold  in  the  assertion 
and  maintenance  of  his  own  ideas.  Distrust  of  his  fel- 
lows makes  him  chary  of  boasting,  but  hinders  continued 
harmonious  action.  The  result  of  these  qualities  is  a  peo- 
ple self-reliant,  but  not  self-assertive  ;  individually  opinion- 
ated  and  contentious,  but  weak,  throufrh  want  of  unitv  ; 


EIGHTY-NINE,  173 

with  a  strong  pride  m  their  business  capacity,  but  a  lax 
instinct  of  personal  honor.  The  power  to  outbid  one's 
fellows  in  the  legal  tender  of  the  land  is  the  highest  ob- 
ject of  ambition,  and  the  capacity  to  rise  from  poverty  or 
mere  comfort  to  the  rank  of  the  millionaire  is  the  crucial 
test  of  merit.  And  well  it  may  be,  for  with  them  the  ladder 
of  fame  has  always  golden  rounds.  The  decimal  point  and 
the  dollar  mark  determine  all  values.  With  millions,  there 
is  no  honor  or  dignity  that  one  may  not  achieve.  Without 
them  he  is  powerless — socially  and  politically  a  cipher. 
The  golden  key  unlocks  for  him  the  door  of  privilege. 
Money  hides  disgrace  and  glorifies  crime.  No  life  is  too 
shameful  to  bar  the  gambler  or  the  pugilist  from  the  halls 
of  CongTess,  if  he  is  but  free-handed  enough  to  pave  his 
way  with  coin.  The  doors  of  the  Senate  work  on  golden 
hinges,  and  the  dollar  is  the  unit  by  which  civic  rank  and 
patriotic  merit  are  estimated. 

I  note  these  facts  without  any  thought  of  condem- 
nation. They  are  not  altogether  pleasant  to  me,  and 
are  especially  inharmonious  with  our  Southern  ideal,  in 
which  honor  is  not  measured  by  the  balance-sheet  nor 
patriotism  estimated  by  Troy  weight.  They  may  be  unavoid- 
able in  a  more  advanced  state  of  societ}^  and  under  the 
peculiar  influences  of  modern  civilization.  As  to  this,  I 
cannot  say.  I  am  willing  to  admit  that  the  results  are  in 
many  respects  remarkable,  and  that  the  men  it  produces  in- 


174  EIGHTY-NINE. 

stead  of  being  altogether  ignoble  are  oft  times  among  the 
most  magnificent  specimens  of  Anglo-Saxon  manhood. 

8uch  an  one  was  Ambi-ose  Wilson  Fairbanks,  Major 
General  in  the  Volunteer  army  of  the  United  States,  one  of 
the  wealthiest  manufacturers  of  the  East,  who  had  risen 
from  the  humblest  rank  of  life  to  the  highest  civic  and 
military  honors  by  the  golden  ladder  of  business  success, 
when  he  became  my  guest  at  Ryalmont.  I  say  "  my  guest,'' 
for  in  these  few  months  1  had  come  to  be  the  head  of  the 
house,  according  to  that  inflexible  Salic  law  of  our  Southern 
life.  My  father's  absence  for  so  long  a  time  had  made  this 
transition  all  the  more  easy  when  it  came.  This  fact  pre- 
vented me  from  being  overwhelmed  v/ith  a  sense  of  insig- 
nificance in  the  presence  of  this  man  who,  unaided  and 
alone,  had  won  his  Avay  to  distiuction  in  the  two  arenas 
where  the  fight  of  life  is  hottest  and  the  manhood  of  the 
combatant  most  severely  tested — war  and  trade.  As  his 
host  I  was  his  equal,  and  forgot  my  callowness  in  the  duty 
thus  imposed  upon  me. 

After  tlie  plain  yet  abundant  dinner,  we  retired  to  this 
room  for  our  post-prandial  cigars.  According  to  our 
Southern  country  custom  it  was  guest-chamber  and  smok- 
ing room  in  one.  A  "  light- wood  "  fire  burned  brightly  on 
the  hearth,  giving  it  an  air  of  luxurious  comfort  that  noth- 
ing else  can  bestow.  With  much  misgiving  I  told  him  of 
my  love  and  hope,  briefly  and  awkwardly  no  doubt.  He 
was  evidently  not  uninformed  of  what  had  happened,  yet 


EIGHTT-NINE.  175 

his  self-control  was  not  sufficient  to  hide  the  excitement 
its  recital  brought.  He  grew  pale  to  the  very  edge  of  the 
clear-cut  lips  that  showed  close-shut  across  the  parting  of 
his  moustache.  His  cool,  gray  eyes  gazed  almost  fiercely 
into  mine.  The  muscles  of  his  face,  however,  were  too 
thoroughly  under  control  to  betray  emotion.  The  smoke 
came  from  his  cigar  in  even,  annular  waves,  and  floated 
steadily  upward  in  the  firelight.  I  was  surprised  at  what 
I  saw,  but  only  thought  how  dearly  he  must  love  his  daugh- 
ter to  be  so  moved  at  what  concerned  her  future,  and  my 
heart  went  out  to  him  in  reverence.  His  agitation  gave 
me  confidence,  and  I  said,  no  doubt,  more  than  the  occasion 
demanded. 

He  did  not  interrupt  my  communication  by  word  or 
gesture.  When  I  had  blundered  to  an  end  there  was  a  mo- 
ment's silence,  j  ust  enough  to  impress  me  with  the  fact  that 
he  did  not  answer  at  once.  The  struggle  with  the  world 
had  taught  this  simple,  straight-forward  man  to  use  the 
weapons  of  silence  and  composure  with  exquisite  skill  in 
his  intercourse  with  men.  It  was  as  if  he  knew  himself  to 
be  powerless,  if  he  let  the  enemy  come  within  his  defences, 
that  he  stood  thus  on  guard  upon  the  on  ter  walls.  I  knew 
before  he  had  spoken  a  word  that  he  did  not  altogether  ap- 
prove my  suit. 

Edith  had  told  me  little  about  her  father.  She  was 
his  idol,  her  mother  having  long  been  dead.  It  seemed  not 
to  have  crossed  her  mind  that  lie  could  ever  contravene  her 


176  EIGHTT-NINE. 

wishes.  Once  when  I  intimated  a  doubt  of  his  approval, 
stating  my  inexperience  and  lack,  not  merely  of  achieve- 
ment biit  of  preparation,  she  had  responded  gaily  that 
with  such  a  father  as  mine  I  liad  no  need  to  have  a  certifi- 
cate of  merit ;  and  as  for  her  papa,  she  was  sure  he  was  too 
grateful  to  tlie  man  who  had  saved  his  daughter's  life  to 
refuse  to  admit  him  to  a  partnership  in  her  love.  So  we 
had  talked  it  all  over,  and  settled  the  immediate  future 
almost  without  consideration  of  this  potent  factor — this 
man  that  now  sat  across  the  table  from  me,  the  firelight 
shining  on  the  gold  buttons  of  liis  bull  vest,  and  showing 
the  dark  braid  upon  the  sleeve  of  his  undress  coat,  which 
was  the  only  hint  of  rank  he  wore.  Xo  one  could  doubt 
his  love  for  the  daughter,  but  I  felt  he  was  about  to  inter- 
vene to  save  her  fi-om  what  he  deemed  lier  folly.  I  could 
not  say  I  thought  him  in  the  wrong. 

"You  are  young,  Mr.  Oweu,"  he  said  at  length. 

Tlie  tone  coutirmed  my  impression.  It  gave  tlie  words 
a  sting  that  cannot  be  here  expressed.  Yet  I  was  not  angry. 
He  had  the  right  to  question  and  also  to  disapprove.  I 
owed  him  respect  and  complaisance  in  the  exercise  of  this 
right. 

So  I  answered  quietly- :  ,' 

"  A  little  past  nineteen,  sir.^' 

"  Indeed  !  "  he  ejaculated  in  surprise.  I  was  evidently 
younger  than  he  had  supposed.  "  Hardly  older  than 
Edith,''  he  added. 


EIGHTT-NINE.  177 

''  Two  years  and  two  months,  sir/' 

*' Ah,"  he  said,  as  a  smile  of  wonderful  sweetness  came 
over  his  face,  warming  its  color  and  softening  its  outlines. 
"■  You  have  evidently  been  comparing  notes  !  " 

''Naturally." 

"And  you  have  settled  everything  to  your  mutual 
liking,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Subject  to  your  approval,  sir." 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  with  a  careless  wave  of  the  hand. 

*'  You  know,  doubtless,  that  Edith  has  an  ample  for- 
tune in  her  own  right  as  well  as  her  expectancy  from  me  ?'' 

So  he  thought  I  was  after  his  daughter's  money  !  I 
could  not  suppress  a  smile  at  the  idea.  Yet  what  else 
could  I  expect  ?  Was  not  he  a  successful  Yankee,  and  I 
the  impoverished  son  of  a  Confederate  soldier,  whose 
estate,  at  the  best,  had  been  insignificant  ?  I  was  half- 
amused  and  half-provoked  that  I  had  not  anticipated  this. 
So  I  answered  lightly,  but  perhaps  a  little  proudly  : 

"I  suppose  I  must  have  known  that  you  were 
wealthy.  I  heard  the  attendant  in  the  hospital  say  you 
equipped  your  regiment.  Of  course,  that  implies  wealth. 
I  have  heard  your  daughter  speak  of  your  Mill.  What 
sort  of  a  mill  I  never  asked  nor  cared.  As  to  your  wealth 
or  hers,  I  am  sure  I  never  gave  it  a  thought.  Perhaps  I 
ought  to  have  inferred  it  from  your  rank." 

"  Hardly,"  he  replied,  with  a  tone  of  amused  sarcasm. 
His  eyes  lost  a  trifle  of  their  harshness  as  he  continued  : 


178  EIGHTY. NINE. 

"  You  have  enough  to  live  upon,  I  suppose  ?  " 

'*  I  am  ray  father's  lieir,  and  will  some  time  be  my 
mother's,  too." 

"  And  your  father  left—?  " 

"  This  plantation,  the  few  books  your  soldiers  spared, 
and  his  name. " 

"  Of  which  you  jirize  most  highly  the  latter  I  sup- 
pose ?  " 

*'  Certainly,  sir  ;  I  am  very  proud  of  that/' 

"  And  you  are  quite  right  to  be  so,"  he  responded 
with  a  heartiness  that  surprised  me.  After  a  moment  he 
added  :  "  This  plantation,  1  take  it,  is  not  a  very  valuable 
property." 

**I  suppose  it  would  yield  a  fair  living,"  I  answered 
seriously,  '*  and,  supplemented  by  what  1  expect  to  earn, 
would  be  enough." 

"  Spoken  like  a  man,  Mr.  Owen  ;  spoken  like  a  man  ;" 
said  he,  approvingly.  His  earnestness  confused  me.  As 
long  as  he  remained  the  cool,  calculating  guardian  of  his 
wealth  I  understood  him,  or  thought  I  did ;  but  when  he 
spoke  in  this  manner  he  took  me  at  a  disadvantage.  So  I 
began  to  distrust  him  when  he  said  in  tones  of  marked 
kindness  : 

"  And  now  about  yourself.   What  do  you  intend  to  do  ?" 

Was  he  about  to  yield  ?     My  hope  revived. 

I  told  him  that  I  proposed  to  complete  my  education, 
and  afterwards  adopt  my  father's  profession. 


ELGHTY-NINE.  179 

"  And  this  will  take—" 

*'  Three  or  four  years." 

'^  And  you  are  willing  to  wait  ?" 

"  Of  course,"  said  I  indignantly.  ''  You  do  not  sup- 
pose I  would  think  of  marrying  your  daughter  until  I  was 
able  to  support  her  properly  ?" 

"No  matter  what  I  supposed  ;  I  am  glad  of  your  as- 
surance to  the  contrary."  Then  he  turned  and  looked 
thonghtf  ully  into  the  fire.  I  could  not  understand  him,  so  I 
said  : 

"  I  hope  you  believe  what  I  say,  General  Fairbanks." 

"Every  word  of  it,  sir,"  he  answered,  looking  me 
squarely  in  the  face.  "I  believe  that  you  love  ray 
daughter  for  her  own  sake,  and  would  loyally  love  and 
maintain  her  if  she  had  not  a  friend  or  a  penny  in  the 
world." 

What  did  he  mean,  this  hard,  practical  man  ?  I 
could  not  make  him  out.  I  wished  to  thank  him,  but  I 
felt  sure  that  there  was  to  be  an  unpleasant  sequel.  So  I 
remained  silent. 

"And  Edith,"  he  asked,  after  awhile.  "Is  she  con- 
tent with  this  i^rospect  of  love  in  a  cottage  ?  That  is  what 
you  term  such  rosy  expectations,  is  it  not,  Mr.  Owen  ?" 

He  spoke  with  a  smile,  but  his  words  galled  me. 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  ask  her,"  I  replied,  rather 
tartly. 

"Of  course,  I  intend  to  do  that,"  he  responded  in  a 


180  EIGIITY.Nl  NE . 

matter-of-fact  tone.  ' '  I  shall  have  to  talk  it  over  with  your 
mother,  too.  Perhaps  the  best  way  will  be  for  us  to  con- 
sider it  all  together — a  sort  of  council  of  war." 

"  Nothing  could  please  me  better,"  I  replied.  "  Shall 
we  call  them  ?  " 

I  rose  as  I  spoke  and  threw  my  cigar  into  the  fire.  I 
had  hardly  smoked  it  at  all,  and  noticed  that  the  one  my- 
companion  held  had  gone  out.  It  struck  me  as  peculiar, 
for  I  remembered  to  have  heard  that,  no  matter  how  hot 
tlie  battle  raged,  General  Fairbanks's  cigar  was  always 
alight. 

*'  Not  just  yet,"  said  he,  with  a  gesture  towards  my 
chair.  **  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  first,  which  may 
perhaps  render  further  consideration  of  this  matter  un- 
necessary." 

I  seated  myself  and  waited.  He  sat  so  long  looking 
intently  into  the  fire  that  I  concluded  he  had  forgotten  my 
presence.  All  at  once  it  occurred  to  me  that  he  was  about 
to  object  because  of  my  southern  birth  and  Confederate 
affinity.  I  knew  that  the  strongest  impulse  of  his  nature 
was  patriotism.  I  knew  also,  that  he  represented  the  very 
extreme  of  northern  thought.  All  at  once  the  difference 
between  his  views  and  mine,  the  great  gulf  which  separated 
the  two  peoples,  yawned  before  me.  I  wondered  that  I 
had  not  thought  of  it  before,  but  though  I  could  well 
understand  how  a  Southern  father  might  object  to  his 
daugliter's  marriage  with  a  Yankee,  it  had  never  occurred 


EIGHTY-NIN  E.  181 

to  me  that  the  same  objection,  or  even  a  greater,  might 
exist  against  a  southern  suitor  in  the  mind  of  a  northern 
parent.     The  thought  made  rae  angry  and  defiant. 

''Perhaps  you  object  to  me,  sir,  because  of  my  south- 
ern birth — because  of  the  Confederate  cause  with  which  my 
name  is  forever  linked  by  my  father's  fame  ?  " 

He  turned  towards  me,  with  a  pitying  smile  upon 
his  lips  and  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes.  I  noted  then  for  the 
first  time  that  his  lids  were  heavy  and  he  seemed  to  have  a 
worn  and  anxious  look. 

"  We  do  not  carry  politics  or  religion  into  our  social 
relations,"  he  said.  ''I  do  not  deny  that  I  would  rather 
Edith  had  chosen  one  of  our  own  i:)eople,  I  do  not  share 
the  admiration  which  so  many  have  for  Southern  life  and 
character.  It  is  well  enough  in  its  way,  but  entirely  differ- 
ent from  ours.  That,  however,  is  for  her  to  consider.  All 
I  can  do  is  to  insist  that  she  shall  have  time,  opportunity 
and  freedom  to  decide,  and  not  be  bound  by  any  bond 
or  pledge,  prematurely  given." 

"  I  will  not  conceal  from  you,"  he  said,  as  he  rose  and 
paced  back  and  forth  in  evident  anxiety,  "  that  there  are 
grave  reasons  why  she  should  not  at  present  engage  herself 
to  any  one.  Of  these  she  will  be  fully  informed.  In  a 
sense,  Mr.  Owen,  I  am  not  romantic,  but  I  can  never  for- 
get that  you  saved  my  daughter's  life  and  by  virtue  of  that 
fact  have  a  claim  on  her  love  and  my  regard  which  no  other 
man  can  have.    If  she  finds  you  worthy,  I  have  no  right  or 


182  EIGHTY-NINE. 

inclination  to  object.  I  shall  only  require  that  you  leave 
her  free  to  determine,  at  any  time,  exactly  what  shall  be 
your  future  relations,  and  I  assure  you,  sir,  that  whenever 
she  may  decide  that  her  happiness  will  be  subserved  by 
uniting  her  destiny  with  yours,  I  shall  most  heartily  ap- 
j)rove.  A  son  of  General  Owen,  who  reveres  his  father's 
memory  and  has  shown  the  spirit  you  have  manifested,  is 
worthy  of  alliance  with  any  American  family.  As  for  the 
difference  of  sentiment  existing  between  us,  I  am  willing 
to  trust  to  time  to  teach  you  "that  your  father  was  wrong. 
That  is  all  there  is  of  the  matter,  anyhow.  To  my  think- 
ing the  difference  is  merely  fanciful,  and  I  believe  the  war 
to  have  been  unnecessary,  if  not  foolish.  In  time  you  will 
no  doubt  arrive  at  the  same  conclusion." 

How  his  careless  words  and  dispassionate  manner  stung 
me  !  Could  it  be  possible  that  I  should  ever  fall  so  low  as 
to  admit  that  the  father  whose  memory  I  Avorshiped  had 
been  wrong  ?  Was  that  the  condition  precedent  of  my 
happiness  ?  If  so,  I  determined  to  elect  disappointment  and 
misery  instead. 

Meantime  General  Fairbanks  went  on  : 

''I  should  be  glad  to  show  my  confidence  in  your 
father's  son  by  informing  you  of  the  nature  of  my  objection 
to  a  present  engagement,  but  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  do  so. 
This  I  will  say  :  I  have  never  contravened  my  daughter's 
wish  in  any  matter  where  her  happiness  was  at  stake,  and 
shall  not  do  so  now.     The  decision  will  be  hers." 


EIGHTY-NINE.  183 

"  Indeed,"  said  lie,  as  he  paused  before  me  and  ex- 
tended his  hand,  "  I  sincerely  wish  that  the  obstacles  were 
swept  away  and  that  you  and  Edith  were  ready  to  com- 
mence life  in  this  pleasant  mountain  home  with  your  cour- 
age and  her  faith  as  the  sole  capital  of  your  life  venture." 

I  forgave  him  even  this  mercantile  simile  as  I  felt  the 
earnest  clasp  of  a  hand  as  strong  as  my  own. 

"  But  you  must  remember,  sir,  that  we  have  not  at 
all  times  control  of  our  own  acts.  You  yourself  are  not 
yet  ready  for  the  happiness  you  desire.  Some  years  must 
elapse  before  you  can  think  of  marriage.  What  may  hap- 
pen in  the  meantime  we  do  not  know.  The  obstacle  that 
now  exists  may  possibly  be  removed.  Thank  Grod,  it  is  not 
absolutely  insurmountable,  and  if  my  daughter's  happiness 
depends  upon  my  overcoming  it  no  effort  on  my  part  shall 
be  wanting.  In  these  years  you  may  change — I  know,"  he 
said,  anticipating  tlie  denial  that  sprang  to  my  lips,  "  I 
know  you  do  not  think  so.  But  you  are  young.  So  is 
Edith.  The  next  few  years  will  bring  much  experience  to 
you  both.  I  shall  put  no  restriction  on  your  intercourse. 
In  fact,  I  should  prefer  that  it  continue.  I  hope  to  see 
you  often  in  our  home  and  trust  we  may  again  be  your 
guests.  It  is  only  fair  that  I  should  tell  you  that  I  have 
resigned  my  commission  in  the  army  and  am  on  my  way 
home.  My  place  is  but  an  hour's  ride  from  the  college  you 
are  to  attend,  and  we  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  and  your 
mother  make  it  your  home  as  often  as  you  desire  during 


184  EIGHTY- NINE. 

your  course.  Edith  has  written  ine  about  the  matter  and 
I  heartily  approve.  Are  you  wilhng  to  leave  things  thus 
deemed  advisable  to  modify  your  relations  ?  You  must 
in  abeyance  until  she  comes  of  age  or  it  is  mutually 
remember  that  I  act  as  guardian  as  well  as  parent." 

I  was  not  williug.  What  lover  was  ever  willing  to 
prolong  incertitude  as  to  his  fate  ?  This  he  no  doubt  saw, 
for  he  added  : 

"  I  mean,  of  course,  if  Edith  approve  what  I  suggest  ?" 

AVhat  lover  ever  dare  refuse  to  submit  to  such  arbitra- 
ment ?  I  bowed  assent.  He  shook  my  hand  warmly  and 
said  heartily  : 

"Thank  you!" 

I  thought  his  voice  was  husky,  but  it  was  clear  enough 
a  moment  after  when,  having  relighted  his  cigar,  he  said  : 

**  Well  then,  that  is  settled.  Now  please  seiicl  Edith 
to  me  for  a  few  moments,  and  come  yourself  after  a  time 
with  your  mother,  whom  you  will,  of  course,  inform  as  to 
the  purport  of  our  conversation.  I  doubt  not  she  will  ap- 
prove what  I  have  done." 

I  found  Edith  and  my  mother  in  the  sitting-room. 
They  sat  together  on  the  rug  before  the  fire,  my  mother 
holding  the  young  girl  in  her  arms.  The  widow's  weeds 
contrasted  well  with  the  bright  maidenly  attire  of  the  girl, 
and  my  mother's  fair  matronly  face  with  its  massy  coil  of 
golden  hair  detracted  nothing  from  the  classic  outlines  of 
the  delicate  head  that  lay  upon  her  bosom.     The  firelight 


EIOHTY-NINE.  185 

formed  an  aureole  of  fitting  and  peculiar  radiance  about 
them.     I  thought  I  had  never  seen  so  fair  a  picture. 

Edith  raised  her  head  and  turned  a  flushed  face  full  of 
tender  inquiry  towards  me  as  I  delivered  my  message.  She 
was  evidently  surprised — almost  alarmed — but  rose  and 
went  to  her  father  without  remark.  I  sat  down  and  told 
my  mother  what  had  occurred.  She  leaned  her  head  upon 
my  knee  and  turned  her  soft,  sweet  face  towards  me  as  she 
listened.  When  I  had  concluded  she  sat  awhile  in  thought. 
Then  she  said  : 

"  He  is  right,  my  son.  Do  not  be  cast  down.  He  is 
a  good  man — a  good  man,  Ryal,  and  you  may  trust  him." 

Presently  there  was  a  rustle  behind  us.  Edith  stood 
in  the  doorway.  The  darkness  of  the  passage  behind  seemed 
to  enfold  her  as  if  dragging  her  away.  Her  face  was  clouded, 
too.  I  could  not  see  her  eyes,  but  thought  there  must  be 
tears  in  them.  She  held  a  handkerchief  to  her  lips  and  her 
voice  trembled  as  she  said  : 

"  If  you — please — my  father — is  waiting." 

I  assisted  my  mother  to  rise,  and  we  followed  to  her 
father's  room. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

When  we  entered  Edith  was  ah-eady  seated  on  a  low 
ottoman,  her  face  turned  half  away  from  the  firelight,  one 
hand  resting  in  her  father's,  her  head  leaning  upon  the 
other,  which  still  held  her  handkerchief.  Her  figure  drooped 
and  she  seemed  suddenly  to  have  grown  old.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  some  fact  of  a  serious  nature  had  come  into  her 
consciousness  since  she  had  responded  to  her  father's  re- 
({uest.  I  felt  in  an  instant  that  I  had  dropped  out  of  her 
life,  at  least  as  a  controlling  factor.  Thereafter  I  might 
be  first  in  her  love,  but  her  father's  wish  would  shape  her 
destiny.  An  hour  before,  my  love  had  been  supreme  in  her 
heart ;  now  I  knew  it  to  be  subordinated  to  a  sentiment  so 
absorbing  and  intense  that  the  very  thought  of  love  seemed 
to  have  been  obliterated. 

A  pang  of  jealousy  shot  through  my  heart  as  I  realized 
how  completely  I  had  been  supplanted  in  her  thought.  In 
an  instant,  however,  this  feeling  was  changed  to  one  of  in- 
finite pity  for  the  drooping  figure  on  the  hassock  as  she 
gazed  up  into  her  father's  face  with  such  completeness  of 
self-immolation.  I  loved  her  not  less  but  more,  and  knew 
that  henceforth  I  must  always  be  the  willing  slave  of  that 
love.  I  might  be  nothing  to  her,  but  she  must  be  every- 
thing to  me.     I  knew  better  than  ever  before  that  she  was 

186 


ETGRTT-NtNE.  187 

mine  ;  mine,  not  perhaps  to  have  and  to  hold^  but  mine  to 
love  and  trust  to  the  end. 

So  my  little  romance  was  over.  The  love  I  had  won 
by  accident  had  been  blighted  by  fate.  The  hate  which 
had  turned  to  love,  revenged  itself  upon  mo  by  demanding 
all  and  promising  nothing  in  return. 

The  general  received  us  courteously.  When  we  were 
seated  he  said,  addressing  my  mother  : 

''  I  suppose  there  is  no  need  of  explanation  ?  " 

''None  at  all,  General,"  she  answered,  with  the  fine 
tact  that  always  marked  her  words.  •'■'  My  son  has  to  make 
his  own  way  in  the  world,  and  while  I  cannot  blame  him 
for  loving  Edith,  I  think  an  engagement  should  not  be 
thought  of  until  his  prospects  are  more  definite  than  at 
present.'' 

"  No  doubt,"  he  answered,  with  his  businesslike  air. 
''  But  my  course  was  not  determined  by  any  such  consider- 
ation. My  daughter's  happiness  is  mine,  and  no  pruden- 
tial consideration  could  induce  mc  to  thwart  her  desire.  I 
regret  that  I  am  unable  to  sjieak  more  frankly  of  the  real 
motive  of  my  conduct." 

"  It  is  quite  unnecessary,"  said  ray  mother  ;  ''  we  are 
sure  it  must  be  a  good  one,  and  are  greatly  obliged  to  you 
for  informing  us  that  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  unfor- 
tunate events  of  the  last  few  years.  I  am  certain  that  if 
my  husband  had  lived  he  would  have  been  foremost  in  every 
endeavor  to  restore  harmony  to  our  distracted  country.     It 


188  EIGHTY-NINE. 

is  for  tliis  reason^  chiefly,  that  I  am  anxious  that  my  son's 
education  should  be  completed  at  the  North.  I  would  not 
have  him  cease  to  be  a  Southern  man,  but  I  think  the  peo- 
ple on  both  sides  should  try  to  understand  each  other  and 
join  hands  in  the  endeavor  to  hold  the  country  together  and 
prevent  any  recurrence  of  the  horrors  of  the  past  four 
years." 

There  were  tears  in  my  mother's  eyes  and  her  voice 
choked  as  she  ceased  speaking.  1  was  surprised  that  one  of 
her  domestic  inclination  should  express  such  decided  views 
upon  public  matters.  It  was  hardly  strange,  however.  The 
people  of  the  South  thought  of  little  else  at  that  time,  and 
the  mothers  Avere  very  often  wiser  than  the  sons.  There 
was  a  look  of  positive  admiration  in  the  general's  eyes  as  he 
listened  to  her  words,  and  at  the  conclusion  he  said  : 

'*If  everybody  were  as  sensible  as  you.  Mrs.  Owen,  we 
should  soon  forget  all  that  has  happened." 

She  glanced  at  her  mourning  gown  and  to^^ched  it  al- 
most unconsciously,  smoothing  down  a  recreant  fold.  He 
perceived  his  error,  and  flushed  deeply  as  he  added  : 

"^'I  mean,  of  course,  in  a  public  sense.  The  dead — of 
course — " 

Here  he  broke  down  (!ompletely  and  my  mother,  ap- 
parently answering  his  thought  rather  than  his  word, 
echoed  : 

"  Of  course." 

After  a  moment's  silence  he  said  : 


EIGHTY- NINE.  189 

"  There  is  another  matter  of  interest  to  you  which  mnst 
now  be  attended  to  as  I  am  compelled  to  leave  on  my  way 
North  to-morrow  morning.  While  I  should  have  been 
loath  to  go  without  congratulating  your  son  upon  his  re- 
covery and  testifying  again  my  gratitude  for  the  gallant 
act  which  left  me  one  thing  in  life  to  cling  to,  yet  I  would 
hardly  have  delayed  my  journey  even  for  a  day,  had  it  not 
been  for  a  duty  enjoined  upon  me  under  peculiar  circum- 
stances, which  I  may  have  no  other  opportunity  to  per- 
form. 

''I  am  not  generally  superstitious,  but  you  will  hardly 
wonder  that  I  was  somewhat  startled  at  what  has  occurred, 
when  I  tell  you  that  my  chief  reason  for  accepting  my  re- 
cent command  was  a  desire  to  find  one  Eyal  Owen.'^ 

Our  surprise  at  this  announcement  could  not  have 
been  greater  than  that  which  showed  itself  in  Edith's  coun- 
tenance.    Her  father  noticed  it  and  said  with  a  smile  : 

"Edith  never  heard  your  name,  Mr.  Owen,  until  you 
had  saved  her  from  peril  ;  but  I  had  been  hunting  you  for 
months,  little  dreaming  what  your  discovery  might  cost  me 
— not  tliat  I  should  be  entirely  the  loser  by  the  proposed 
exchange." 

Even  in  matters  of  the  heart  the  Yankee  instinct  was 
uppermost,  and  the  simile  he  used  Avas  drawn  from  the 
conflicts  of  the  arena  in  which  he  had  first  won  distinction. 
My  mother  smiled  at  this  somewhat  awkward  attempt  at 


190  EtanTY-KINE. 

gaiety,  aud  tlie  matter-of-fact  soldier  relapsing  into  hid 
usual  tone,  continued  his  narrative  : 

"1  do  not  know  why  I  never  spoke  to  her  of  it,  un- 
less it  be  that  reticence  has  become  almost  second  nature 
to  me.  The  fact  is,  I  entered  upon  this  quest  at  the 
special  request  of  General  Godson  Owen. 

"  You  are  surprised  at  this,  and  will  be  more  so  when 
you  know  how  curiously  I  was  baffled  in  my  search.  Know- 
ing Edith's  romantic  desire  to  restore  your  father's  horse  to 
the  family  of  his  gallant  owner,  I  thought  to  give  her  a 
})lcasant  surprise  as  well  as  i)erform  a  duty  incumbent  upon 
me  by  finding  you  witliout  her  knowledge.  80  I  souglit 
for  you  far  and  near,  and  had  just  learned  that  you  were 
home  were  in  ihis  region  when  fate  brought  us  into  such 
strange  rehitions. 

"  You  wonder  how  I  came  to  know  of  your  existence 
or  to  have  any  desire  to  find  you  out  ?  It  is  not  a  pleasant 
story.  You  are  aware,  madam,  that  I  commanded  tlie 
troops  against  which  your  husband  led  his  division  in  that 
last  hopeless  charge.  I  was  standing  on  the  ridge  along  the 
side  of  which  my  skirmishers  were  advancing  in  a  pretty 
strong  line,  driving  the  enemy — the  Confederates,  you  un- 
derstand— before  them.  We  all  knew  that  the  end  could 
not  be  very  far  off,  and  I  think  every  one  felt  a  thrill  of 
horror  at  every  shot  that  was  fired  and  every  life  that  was 
thus  needlessly  sacrificed.  For  tliree  days  there  had  been 
no  hope  for  Lee's  army.     Indeed,  when  he  left  the  works 


EIOHTT-NTNE.  191 

around  Petersbiii'g  there  was  no  longer  any  reasonable  hope. 
For  two  days  his  retreat  had  been  a  continued  series  of  use- 
less encounters  to  gain  an  hour's  time  in  order  to  enable  the 
commander  and  a  fragment  of  his  army  to  escape  immediate 
capture.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  harsh,  but  to  my  mind  every 
life  that  was  lost  after  Lee  found  himself  forced  to  retreat 
in  the  face  of  overwhelming  odds,  with  one  sj^lendidly  ap- 
pointed army  upon  his  track  and  another  on  his  flank,  was 
simply  a  sacrifice  to  unholy  ambition.  So  we  pursued 
the  shattered  army  and  slew  those  who  would  not  yield. 
AVe  pressed  them  hard — it  was  a  mercy  to  force  the  end — 
yet  it  was  sickening  work. 

"  I  was  saying  something  of  this  kind  to  my  staff, 
when  I  saw  General  Owen  come  out  of  the  woods  in  front 
of  my  line  with  his  hat  on  the  point  of  his  sword.  He  did 
not  once  look  back,  but,  facing  squarely  to  the  front,  rode 
towards  our  skirmishers,  his  men  pressing  close  after  him 
with  loud  huzzas.  It  was  a  useless  though  heroic  effort. 
My  heart  turned  sick  as  I  gave  the  orders  that  would  de- 
stroy the  gallant  little  band.  They  had  pressed  the  skir- 
mishers back  upon  the  main  line  when  a  dozen  cannon  and 
ten  thousand  muskets  poured  death  into  their  ranks.  They 
wavered  an  instant  and  then  fled — all  that  were  left  of 
them — across  the  creek  to  join  again  the  toiling  ranks  of 
the  fleeing  army." 

My  mother  was  weeping  silently.     Edith  stole  across 


192  EIGHTY- NINE. 

the  room  and,  taking  a  seat  beside  her,  drew  her  head  upon 
her  shoulder.     Her  father  glanced  at  them  aj^provingly. 

''  I  saw  your  husband  when  he  fell.  Somehow  I  felt 
irresistibly  attracted  by  his  gallantry.  In  a  moment  I  was 
beside  him.  Some  of  my  men  had  already  laid  him  by  a 
blossoming  thornbush  on  the  road  side.  He  was  dead — was 
probably  dead  before  he  fell  from  the  saddle.  His  horse, 
badly  wounded,  stood  by  him  neighing  piteously.  I  ordered 
the  body  to  be  buried  by  the  thornbush  where  it  lay,  hav- 
having  ascertained  his  name  by  papers  in  his  possession. 
The  saber,  which  he  still  held  in  his  stiffening  grasp,  and 
some  other  mementoes  I  took  charge  of,  hoping  some  time 
to  transmit  them  to  his  family.  The  glove  he  wore  was 
taken  from  his  riglit  hand  and  a  case  found  in  an  inner 
]30cket  placed  within  it.  He  sleeps  with  the  image  of  his 
loved  ones  on  his  breast,  madam,  and  it  only  remains  for 
me  to  hand  you  these  mementoes  of  as  brave  a  soldier  as 
ever  wore  a  sword." 

General  Fairbanks  went  to  the  bed,  on  which  lay  a 
package,  which  his  orderly  had  brought,  and,  returning, 
placed  a  sword,  a  pair  of  spurs  and  a  soiled  gauntlet  in  my 
mother's  lap. 

"And  these,"  he  added,  turning  to  me,  "you  will  see 
I  give  into  your  hands  according  to  your  father's  request. 
His  directions  misled  me,  and  your  unfortunate  accident 
induced  me  to  wait  until  all  apprehension  of  harm  from  the 


EIGHTY-  NI NE.  193 

excitement  necessarily  attending  the  revival  of  such  sad 
memories  should  be  passed." 

I  received  from  this  strange  messenger  of  the  dead  a 
small  leather-covered  volume  tied  with  a  string,  and  a  large 
official  envelope,  bearing  the  imprint  of  the  division  my 
father  had  commanded,  and  directed  in  his  hand  : 

"To  my  son,  Ryal  Owen,  supposed  to  be  living  near 
Oconee,  Georgia.  In  case  of  my  death,  the  Under  of  this 
will  please  deliver,  if  possible  with  his  own  hand  ;  if  not, 
then  by  the  most  certain  method  that  may  offer.     Signed, 

"  GODSOX  OAVEIf,  C.  S.  A." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  My  mother  wept  and  kissed 
the  dear  relics  again  and  again.  We  both  endeavored  to 
thank  the  brusque  soldier  who  had  so  kindly  remembered 
the  f&mily  of  his  foe,  but  he  waved  aside  our  gratitude  and 
turned  quickly  away  to  conceal  the  tears  that  filled  his  eyes. 

From  that  hour  I  never  questioned  the  motives  of 
Ambrose  Fairbanks.  Fate  had  made  him  my  father's  em- 
bassador ;  and  his  character  was  sacred  to  those  to  whom 
he  came  thus  strangely  accredited. 

After  a  time  I  untied  the  string  and  glanced  along  the 
jjages  of  my  father's  diary — the  record  of  his  thoughts  dur- 
ing those  final  days  of  struggle.  Each  year  he  had  sent  us 
one  of  these  priceless  mementoes  of  his  love.  Then  I 
looked  at  the  envelope  made  of  the  coarse,  yellowish  paper 
which  was  the  only  kind  we  had  within  the  limits  of  the 


194  EIOUTT.NINE. 

Confederacy.  Mechanically  I  broke  the  seal  imtl  foinul 
within  another.  I  took  it  out  and  read  aloud  this  super- 
scription • 

**  To  my  son,  Ryal  Owen  : 

If  you  are  yet  unmarried  on  your  twenty -third  birth- 
day, I  desire  that  you  will  open  this  on  that  day  and  read 
its  contents.  Should  you  decide  to  marry  previous  to  that 
time,  I  request  that  you  will  burn  this  unopened. 

"'  Godson  Owen." 

"  Bless  me,  what  a  strange  thing  ! "  exclaimed  my 
mother,  forgetting  her  grief  in  the  wonder  and  awe  which 
this  injunction  inspired.  *'It  really  frightens  one  to 
think—" 

She  stopped  and  glanced  from  one  to  another  as  if  she 
had  said  too  much. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Each  was  conscious  of  the 
other's  tJiought.  Then  Edith  rose  and  coming  softly  to 
my  side  held  out  her  hand  and  said  : 

''Will  you  give  me  that  letter  to  keep  for  you  ?" 

I  glanced  at  her  father.  He  nodded  approval  and  I 
placed  it  in  her  hand.  She  clasped  it  to  her  bosom  and  re- 
mained standing  beside  me. 

"  Ryal,"  she  said.  I  rose  and  stood  beside  her.  She 
looked  up  into  my  eyes.  There  was  the  same  beseeching 
look  in  hers  that  I  remembered  when  she  looked  down 
upon  me  from  the  back  of  the  flying  steed.     "  Ryal,"  she 


EIGETY-NINE.  195 

repeated,  ''  the  life  you  saved  will  always  be  yours,  happen 
what  may." 

I  looked  towards  her  father,  anxious  not  to  seem  to 
break  my  pledge.  His  look  did  not  forbid.  I  took  her  in 
my  arms  and  kissed  her  lips. 

"  Command  me,"  I  said,  "  and  I  will  obey.  "Whether 
as  lover,  friend  or  servant,  it  matters  not — " 

"  Nay/'  said  she  gently  interrupting,  with  her  hand 
upon  my  lips.  '"Be  my  knight  to  do  whatever  honor  re- 
quires, in  my  name." 

Before  one  eould  guess  her  intention  slie  had  released 
herself  from  my  embrace,  taken  the  sv/ord  from  my  mother's 
lap,  drawn  the  polished  blade  from  the  worn  scabbard,  and 
turned  toward  me  with  it  upraised.  I  do  not  know  why, 
but  I  knelt  before  her.  She  touched  me  lightly  on  the 
shoulder,  presented  the  golden  hilt  with  the  one  silver  star 
upon  the  cross,  and  I  pressed  it  to  my  lips  with  as  much 
consecrating  fervor  as  any  knight  of  chivalry  ever  felt. 

It  was  a  curious  scene  for  this  matter-of-fact  age,  but 
somehow  none  of  those  present  seemed  to  think  it  out  of 
place,  and  even  as  I  write  of  it  now,  it  does  not  seem  alto- 
gether absurd.  Many  a  knight  has  kissed  that  jeweled  hilt 
since  then  and  I — I  have  fulfilled  my  vow. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

Little  need  bo  said  of  the  years  that  followed.  My 
life  was  that  of  the  ordinary  college  student,  only  for  me 
tlie  college  was  situated  in  a  new  world.  It  was  the  first 
glimpse  of  what  I  had  hitherto  only  dreamed  of  as  "  the 
Xorth."  To  me  i^  had  only  been  the  antipode  of  the 
South — my  South — 7ny  home — my  country,  whose  aspira- 
tions, woes  and  prejudices  were  part  and  parcel  of  my  life. 
This  life  I  brought  with  me — its  defiance,  scorn,  almost 
contempt,  of  all  that  differed  from  it.  The  misfortunes  of 
my  people,  the  injustice  they  had  suffered,  the  losses  they 
had  endured — all  these  were  in  my  mind  when  I  came  into 
the  enemy's  country  to  fit  myself  to  satisfy  my  mother's 
ambition  and  win  the  fairest  daughter  of  our  hereditary 
foes.  I  realize  now  what  a  strange  compound  of  arrogance, 
suspicion,  self-conceit  and  romantic  aspiration  it  was  that 
came  up  from  the  Southern  battle-fields  and  knocked  at 
the  portals  of  the  Northern  college. 

There  was  no  question  about  my  ability  to  matriculate. 
Fortunately  my  training  had  been  thorough  if  somewhat 
fragmentary.  I  had,  too,  something  of  my  father's  aptitude 
for  acquirement  as  well  as  his  stubborn  resolution  to 
achieve. 

I  hardly  know  when  the  awakening  came.     Little  by 

196 


EIGHTY.  NINE.  I97 

little  my  preconceptions  were  destroyed.  I  sought  in  vain 
for  my  ideals.  I  could  not  find  among  the  jDeople  I  so 
thoroughly  disliked  the  attributes  on  which  my  antipathy 
was  founded.  At  first,  I  counted  those  whom  I  met  excep- 
tions, as  I  had  already  decided  Edith  and  her  father  to  be, 
to  the  general  life  from  which  they  sprang.  As  these 
"exceptions"  multiplied  I  began  to  doubt,  and  long  before 
my  course  was  ended  I  had  abandoned  my  former  preju- 
dices, concluded  that  it  was  mere  ignorance  of  each  other's 
inclinations  that  kept  the  South  and  the  North  apart,  and 
wondered  that  this  misconception  should  have  culminated 
in  war  quite  as  devoutly  as  I  had  previously  questioned  how 
it  could  ever  subside  into  peace. 

Of  course,  I  still  thought  the  fault  and  the  offense  were 
on  the  part  of  the  N"orth,  but  I  wondered  greatly  how  such 
a  good-natured,  kindly,  tolerant  people  could  have  been  so 
misled  and  corrupted  by  demagogues  and  zealots.  I 
regretted  most  sincerely  that  there  was  not  a  full  and  per- 
fect mutual  understanding  and  comprehension  of  motives 
and  sentiments  on  the  part  of  the  people  of  the  two  sections. 
I  was  sure  that  nothing  more  was  necessary  to  secure  the 
most  perfect  and  complete  accord.  That  was  what  I  said, 
and  what  I  thought  I  felt.  The  fact  is,  I  only  thought  of 
a  one-sided  tolerance  and  appreciation,  not  a  mutual  one.  I 
wished  the  people  of  the  North  might  understand  the 
motives  and  impulses  of  the  people  of  the  South.  Then,  I 
was  sure,  they  would  realize  how  much  they  had  unwittingly 


198  EIGHTY. NINE. 

■wronged  them  ;  and  then,  I  was  confident,  our  people  would 
forgive  them  fully,  and  after  that  there  could  only  be  har- 
mony. 

To  the  other  side  of  the  matter  I  gave  little  thought. 
It  never  occurred  to  me  that  it  was  equally  desirable  that 
the  people  of  the  South  should  learn  to  understand  and  ap- 
preciate the  people  of  the  North.  I  do  not  remember  once 
to  have  considered  the  question  whether  the  wrong  and  the 
folly  might  not  have  been  on  their  side.  I  did  sometimes 
wish  our  people  might  understand  that  the  Yankees 
were  much  better  fellows  than  our  fancy  had  painted  them 
--here  at  home,  at  least.  I  even  wished  that  some  of  them 
— a  good  many  of  the  richest  and  brightest  and  most  enter- 
prising— might  go  to  the  South  with  money  and  skill  and 
transform  our  almost  barren  wastes  into  fruitful  fields  and 
centers  of  prosperous  industry.  I  dreamed  the  dream, 
which  comes  to  every  Southern  man  of  intelligence  and  pa- 
triotism, of  a  South  built  up  and  enriched  by  the  munifi- 
cence, thrift  and  energy  of  her  conquerors.  I  saw  her  mines, 
her  forests  and  her  waterways  made  tributary  to  the  demands 
of  commerce,  and  her  people  enriched  by  the  sale  of  their 
possessions  to  the  stranger.  But  it  never  once  occurred  to 
me  that  the  stranger  would  naturally  seek  to  become  a  con- 
stituent and  distinctive  element  of  our  society,  that  he 
might  desire  to  change  its  characteristics,  or  that  the  energy 
and  enterprise  I  so  greatly  admired  were  the  results  of  essen- 
tially different  conditions,  and  must  of  necessity  demand 


EIGHTY-NINE.  I99 

and  require  great  modifications  of  our  Southern  life.  It 
seemed  to  me  a  very  simple  matter,  if  the  Northern  people 
could  only  be  made  to  understand  its  simplicity. 

Perhaps  my  views  on  this  subject  were  modified,  not 
only  by  the  surroundings  of  my  daily  life  on  the  campus 
and  in  the  class-room,  but  also  by  two  events  which  sepa- 
rated me  still  more  from  the  common  lot  of  my  country- 
men. It  was  scarcely  a  year  after  my  departure  that  The 
Grove  was  sold.  As  I  have  said,  the  family  seat  was  at 
Ryalmont.  There  all  our  sweetest  memories  and  fondest 
associations  seemed  to  have  centered.  I  did  not  conq^i'e- 
hend  the  reason  then.  It  is  plain  enough  now  that  my 
father  was  never  really  at  home  at  The  Grove.  The  pro- 
ductive, well-ordered  plantation  did  not  comjDensate  him 
for  the  picturesque  beauty  of  the  mountain  farm.  My 
mother  must  have  realized  this,  so  that  her  heart  turned 
instinctively  to  Ryalmont  as  the  real  home  of  the  husband 
whose  memory  she  cherished. 

After  the  camp  was  discontinued  and  the  entire  plan- 
tation at  The  Grove  reverted  to  my  mother's  possession, 
we  found  a  considerable  portion  of  it  occupied  by  those 
half-unconscious  trespassers,  the  newly-made  freedmen. 
They  had  naturally  gathered  about  the  camp,  and  by  some 
means  or  other  had  contrived  to  build  not  a  few  of  those 
little  huts  which  were  the  first  refuge  of  the  freedman, 
fleeing  with  a  sort  of  undefined  dread  from  the  scene  of 
his  servitude,  as  if  freedom  was  to  him  an  incredible  fact 


300  EIGHTT-NINE. 

until  he  had  actually  tested  his  own  power  to  contravene 
the  wish  of  his  former  master. 

This  little  cluster  of  huts  had  grown  into  quite  a  vil- 
lage, and  it  was  evident  that  u  colored  colony,  such  as  is 
always  found  upon  one  side  or  another  of  every  Southern 
city,  had  pitched  upon  our  old  plantation  as  the  chosen 
site  for  the  freedmen's  suhurb  of  the  city  it  adjoined. 
In  that  chaotic  time  no  attempt  was  made  at  their  expul- 
sion. The  law  was  yet  dormant  after  tlie  clash  of  arms. 
Christopher  cultivated  the  bottoms  and  exacted  from  the  oc- 
cupants of  the  huts  upon  the  hills  an  uncertain  rental,  which, 
though  but  a  slight  tax  upon  each,  added  materially  to 
our  revenue.  Many  of  them  inspired  by  a  curious  sense  of 
the  dignity  attaching  to  the  ownership  of  land,  very  soon 
desired  to  purchase  the  lots  they  occupied  by  virtue  of  a 
sort  of  squatter  sovereignty. 

Perhaps  it  was  these  circumstances  that  led  eventually 
to  its  alienation.  However  that  may  be,  it  was  sold  to  a 
wealthy  Northern  philanthropist,  who  selected  it,  I  think, 
not  a  little  through  the  influence  of  General  Fairbanks,  as 
the  location  of  an  educational  institution  he  proposed  to 
build  for  the  use  of  the  colored  people.  No  more  fitting 
site  could  have  been  chosen.  Overlooking  the  thriving 
town  and  the  fertile  valley,  it  was  the  ideal  location  for  a 
university. 

Neither  my  mother  nor  myself  at  that  time  had  any 
sympathy  with  the  use  for  which  it  was  intended.     In  the 


EIGHTY-NINE.  201 

freedmen,  as  a  self -directing  race,  we  had  no  interest,  and 
indeed,  no  thought  for  them  except  a  sort  of  contemptuous 
pity.  Our  chief  feeling  in  regard  to  the  transaction  was 
that  it  only  completed  the  desecration  begun  by  the  Yankee 
army ;  and  as  we  did  not  wish  to  live  at  The  Grove,  we 
saw  no  reason  why  it  should  not  be  sold,  especially  as  the 
price  offered  was  a  liberal  one.  I  learned  afterwards  to 
respect  the  motives  of  those  engaged  in  the  work  of  edu- 
cating the  freedmen.  I  did  not  then  deem  it  possible  that 
they  could  ever  become  an  important  element  of  our  civili- 
zation, and  thought  the  attempt  to  educate  them  only  a 
harmless  continuation  of  the  Northern  crusade  for  their 
emancipation. 

So  I  was  glad  the  plantation  was  sold.  Its  possession 
served  only  to  keep  alive  the  one  memory  of  the  past  which 
I  could  not  forgive.  I  never  thought  of  it  without  seeing 
my  mother  and  little  sister  fleeing  half-clothed  into  the 
darkness,  Avhile  the  flame  lighted  up  the  surging  cohimn 
of  sooty  vapor  that  rolled  upward  from  the  blazing  roof- 
tree.  Then  Avould  come  the  memory  of  the  torrents  pour- 
ing down  upon  us,  of  the  slippery,  crowded  roads,  the  fright- 
ened women  and  fainting  children,  the  hot,  quick  breath  of 
the  little  sister  that  lay  in  my  arms  as  we  trudged  through 
the  darkness.  So,  though  I  had  all  the  Southern  fondness 
for  land,  I  was  glad  to  part  with  the  plantation  and  espe- 
cially glad  of  the  relief  from  care  which  the  transaction 
brought  to  my  mother.     I  have  since  felt  a  tinge  of  regret 


202  EIGHTY-NINE. 

that  a  stranger's  name  is  linked  with  the  old  home  in  the 
relation  it  must  bear  to  the  future  of  a  race.  Historically, 
it  is  an  enduring  monument  of  a  wisdom  and  beneficence 
we  were  not  then  ready  to  appreciate. 

To  my  mother  this  sale  opened  the  door  of  a  new  life. 
It  lifted  her  not  only  above  want  but  even  above  the  neces- 
sity of  irksome  economy.  We  were  richer  in  comparison 
with  our  neighbors  than  ever  before.  The  income  of 
the  amount  realized  by  the  sale  together  with  the  rental  of 
Ryalmont  was  enough  for  our  modest  wants  and  a  sufficient 
surplus  for  our  holidays. 

I  have  alluded  before  to  my  mother's  personal  charms, 
but  I  never  realized  until  that  time  what  a  tender  effulgence 
her  beauty  cast  about  her.  She  was  still  young  and  there 
was  no  little  of  loverlike  adoration  in  my  regard  for  her. 
After  the  sale  she  spent  little  time  at  Ryalmont.  Every 
autumn  she  returned  to  collect  the  rents,  which,  of  course, 
were  paid  "in  kind,''  and  to  make  arrangements  for  the 
following  year.  The  remainder  of  the  time  she  spent  at 
the  North — the  greater  portion  of  it  with  Edith  Fairbanks. 
Somehow  there  was  a  peculiar  harmony  between  the  fair- 
haired  Southern  woman,  with  her  blue  eyes  and  soft,  trans- 
parent complexion,  and  the  dark,  slender  Northern  maiden, 
who  was  the  very  ideal  of  that  conventional  beauty  which, 
with  curious  inaccuracy,  has  been  made  the  type  of  South- 
ern loveliness.     They  were  almost  inseparable. 

General  Fairbanks'  residence,  "  Sagamo  Lodge,"  as  he 


EIQHTY-NINE.  203 

had  humorously  named  it,  was  hardly  an  hour's  ride  from 
the  college  I  attended.  It  stood  upon  the  banks  of  a 
beautiful  river  with  the  blue  waters  of  the  Sound  in  sight 
from  its  upper  windows.  A  mile  away  was  the  little  village 
which  had  grown  up  about  his  mills — a  model  village  in  a 
community  where  more  attention  is  given  to  the  questions 
attending  industrial  association  than  in  any  other  part  of 
the  world.  '  The  banks  of  the  stream  and  the  wooded 
eminences  far  and  near  were  crowned  with  the  elegant  and 
sometimes  palatial  residences  of  the  princes  of  the  great 
metropolis  of  trade,  which  lay  within  easy  reach.  Between 
the  families  of  the  owners  there  subsisted  a  sort  of  baronial 
courtesy,  resting  rather  upon  the  fact  of  commercial  solidity 
than  similarity  of  tastes  and  character.  They  were  of  all 
sorts  and  classes,  gathered  from  all  parts  of  the  country 
and  some  from  other  lands  ;  but  they  were  all  rich — some 
of  them  lavishly  and  luxuriously,  as  the  good  American 
loves  to  be  in  attestation  of  his  success,  and  some  of  them 
quietly  and  contentedly  like  soldiers  enjoying  the  fruits  of 
victory  of  which  they  do  not  care  to  vaunt.  Taken  all  in 
all,  they  formed  a  curiously  pleasant  class,  insensibly  distin- 
guished from,  and  yet  harmoniously  related  to,  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  prosperous  villages,  scattered  here  and  there 
along  the  line  of  railroad.  Their  yachts  dotted  the  spark- 
ling river  ;  their  equipages  dashed  along  the  quiet  roads. 
The  low,  sandy  beach  that  bordered  the  Sound  was  over- 
looked by  summer  houses  overflowing  during  the  season 


204  EIGHTY -NINE. 

with  rich  people  from  the  great  city  bent  on  self -enjoy- 
ment. 

Such  an  atmosphere  seemed  to  develop  a  phase  of  my 
mother's  character  which  I  had  hardly  suspected.  My 
grandmother  had  called  her  gay,  and  she  had  been  noted 
us  the  most  attractive  hostess  in  a  region  where  entertain- 
ment is  the  most  highly-prized  of  all  the  arts.  I  was  young 
then,  however,  and  what  had  since  occurred  had  almost 
blotted  it  from  my  memory.  I  had  never  dreamed  that 
such  a  change  was  possible.  It  was  not  frivolity,  still  less 
was  it  a  desire  for  admiration.  It  was  simply  the  peaceful 
enjoyment  of  pleasant  surroundings.  There  was  nothing 
feverish  or  unnatural  about  it.  She  neither  invited  nor 
repelled  admiration.  She  did  not  forget  her  relations  to  the 
past  in  her  enjoyment  of  the  present.  If  my  classmates 
raved  about  her  when  she  came  to  visit  me  at  the  college,  it 
was  as  my  mother  that  they  sang  her  praises  and  honored 
me  with  kindly  envy.  She  did  not  forget  her  widowhood, 
refusing  to  lay  aside  the  indications  of  mourning  until  the 
day  of  my  graduation. 

I  hardly  know  how  it  was  that  we  became,  my  mother 
and  I,  such  habitual  denizens  of  the  Fairbanks  home. 
The  father,  despite  the  proximity  of  the  mills,  which  were 
supposed  to  be  the  foundation  of  his  fortune,  was  absent 
much  of  the  time,  and  I  think  was  very  glad  to  secure  for 
his  daughter  so  distinguished  and  acceptable  a  chaperon 
as  my  mother.      He  was  engaged  in  great  enterprises. 


EIGHTY-NINE.  205 

which  absorbed  his  entire  atteution  and  demanded  all  his 
energies,  giving  him  little  opportunity  to  cater  to  his  daugh- 
ter's comfort  and  enjoyment. 

For  myself,  I  came  and  went  with  scarcely  a  thought 
of  the  singularity  of  my  position.  Nothing  more  had 
been  said  in  regard  to  my  relations  with  Edith,  When  they 
were  at  home  I  usually  went  down  on  Saturday  and  spent 
the  Sabbath  with  them.  On  such  occasions  I  always  found 
Edith,  with  her  phaeton  and  her  favorite  horse,  awaiting 
my  arrival  at  the  station.  She  treated  me,  I  thought,  with 
the  frank,  affectionate  manner  accorded  to  an  accepted 
suitor.  Though  her  father  had  never  in  words  stated 
his  approval,  yet  it  was  evident  from  a  thousand  things 
that  he  looked  forward  with  pleasant  anticipation  to  the 
completion  of  my  preparatory  studies  and  my  entrance  upon 
real  life.  He  was  especially  anxious  that  I  should  fit  myself 
for  my  father's  profession,  and  spared  no  opportunity  to 
urge  me  to  renewed  exertion.  He  manifested  also  a  great 
desire  that  my  preparations  should  be  completed  before  the 
opening  of  the  packet  my  father  had  left  for  me.  I  was 
able  only  by  the  greatest  effort  to  gratify  his  desire. 

This  life,  though  seemingly  an  idyllic  one,  was  to  me 
therefore  one  of  unremitting  toil.  During  the  whole  period 
I  hardly  knew  what  it  was  to  have  a  holiday.  Every  glimpse 
of  my  mother  and  Edith  was  a  spur  to  redoubled  exertion. 
I  had  the  delightful  consciousness  that  my  course  was 
watched  by  loving  eyes,  and  that  more  than  one  life  was 


206  EIGHTY. NINE. 

ordered  with  a  view  to  promote  my  success  and  secure  my 
hajipiuess. 

During  the  winter  the  house  was  generally  closed  for  a 
considerahlo  period,  which  my  mother  and  Edith  spent 
either  in  ''the  city" — as  New  York  is  always  designated 
by  the  dwellers  in  that  region — or  at  some  other  social  cen- 
ter. One  season  they  were  in  Washington,  where  I  joined 
them  for  the  winter  vacation.  There  could  have  been  no 
better  initiation  into  the  curious  life  of  the  national  capital 
than  that  which  I  received  as  the  son  of  Godson  Owen  and 
the  prospective  son-in-law  of  Ambrose  Fairbanks,  who  was 
no  less  eminent  as  a  financier  than  as  a  soldier.  Tliese  two 
circumstances  opened  to  me  every  door,  and  made  me  wel- 
come even  to  the  antijDodes  of  political  thought. 

While  I  was  often  congratulated  by  friends  on  my 
supposed  relation  to  Edith,  no  allusion  was  ever  made  to  it 
in  the  family  and  only  rarely  between  Edith  and  myself. 
It  was  rather  an  assumed  than  an  acknowledged  fact.  Only 
my  mother  spoke  of  it  frequently.  It  was  the  acme  of  her 
hope,  and  she  never  lost  an  opj)ortunity  when  we  were 
alone  together  of  giving  expression  to  her  desire.  She 
seemed  to  think  that  she  must  not  relax  her  watchcare  over 
me  until  my  fate  was  irrevocably  linked  with  Edith's,  and  she 
counted  the  months  until  my  twenty-third  birthday  with 
ill-concealed  anxiety.  Especially  was  this  noticeable  dur- 
ing my  last  year  of  preparation.  Indeed,  her  whole  con- 
duct that  year  had  a  strange  flavor  of  excitement. 


EIGHTY-NINE.  207 

As  I  said,  it  had  been  decided  to  defer  the  reading  of 
my  father's  missive  until  the  condusion  of  my  course  of 
preparation.  It  was  still  in  Edith's  possession,  and  as  we 
could  not  guess  its  contents  we  had  long  since  ceased  to 
speculate  in  regard  to  them  ;  at  least,  I  had.  I  learned 
afterwards  that  apprehension  as  to  its  character  had  not 
only  rested  continually  on  my  mother's  heart,  but  had  pre- 
vented Edith  from  looking  forward  with  secure  anticipa- 
tion to  our  future.  As  to  General  Fairbanks,  his  anxiety 
towards  the  last  became  evident  to  all.  It  had  been 
arranged,  at  his  special  request,  that  the  missive  should  be 
read  on  Saturday,  the  first  day  of  July,  Edith's  birthday 
falling  on  the  third.  Even  with  this  arrangement  fate  in- 
terfered. 

My  preparation  had  ended  more  than  a  month  previous 
to  this  date,  and  at  my  mother's  suggestion  I  returned  to 
my  native  state  and  was  admitted  to  the  bar,  in  order  that 
I  might  place  the  credentials  of  my  profession  in  the  Gen- 
eral's hands  at  the  same  time,  as  an  earnest  of  my  determi- 
nation to  rely  upon  myself  rather  than  on  any  accident  of 
fortune.  It  was  not  my  intention  to  return  to  the  South 
to  live,  but  rather  to  seek  a  location  in  the  West,  the  op- 
portunities of  which  fascinated  my  ambitious  fancy.  I  was 
desirous  of  working  out  my  own  destiny  in  my  own  way. 
I  wished  to  achieve  for  myself  an  individual  success  worthy 
of  my  father's  memory  and  equal  to  what  I  deemed  tlie 
aspiration  of  Edith's  father  for  the  husband  of  his  daughter. 


208  EIGHTY-KINE. 

A  distrust  of  my  ability  to  do  this  was,  I  thought,  at  the 
bottom  of  the  reluctance  he  had  at  first  manifested  to 
sanctioning  our  engagement.  I  mentioned  this  to  my 
mother  on  my  return,  and  Avas  surprised  at  the  look  of 
anxiety  that  overspread  her  countenance  as  she  listened  to 
my  words.  Somehow  her  seriousness  gave  me  an  uneasy 
feeling.  For  the  first  time,  since  that  winter  night  at  Eyal- 
mont,  I  began  to  wonder  whether  there  were  any  serious 
obstacle  to  our  marriage,  which  her  love  liad  divined  and 
mine  had  not  discovered.  Had  I  been  so  absorbed  with 
preparation  as  to  neglect  pei'il  to  my  love  ? 

It  was  the  day  before  the  first  of  July.  The  morrow 
was  to  decide  my  fate.  I  put  021  my  hat  and  strolled  down 
to  the  river's  edge,  where  the  General's  steam  yacht  lay  at 
anchor.  It  was  being  prepared  for  the  fete  that  was  to 
take  place  on  Monday.  I  wondered  if  I  should  be  one  of 
her  passengers  on  that  occasion.  Somehow,  I  found  my- 
self possessed  with  a  vague  terror  as  to  what  might  inter- 
vene. 

As  I  approached,  I  saw  the  skipper  in  conversation  with 
a  man  whom  I  had  sometimes  seen  at  the  house  of  General 
Fairbanks  during  my  visits.  It  flashed  upon  me  all  at  once 
that  I  had  met  him  much  oftener  than  any  other  guest  under 
the  roof  of  Sagamo  Lodge.  His  name  was  Martling — Kichurd 
Martling.  He  was  not  a  relative  of  the  family,  and,  as  far  as 
I  knew,  was  not  associated  with  General  Fairbanks  in  busi- 
ness.    Indeed  I  had  an  idea  there  was  somethincj  of  business 


EIQHTY-NTNE.  209 

antagonism  between  them.  I  have  called  him  a  guest,  I 
might  more  properly  have  termed  him  a  frequent  visitor. 
It  had  never  occurred  to  me  to  ask  why  he  came,  yet,  now 
that  I  thought  of  it,  I  seemed  to  have  noted  that  his  pres- 
ence always  brought  something  of  restraint  to  both  father 
and  daughter.  It  flashed  upon  me,  too,  that  my  mother 
had  never  mentioned  him  in  our  frequent  talks,  without 
manfesting  a  peculiar  jDreJudice  against  him. 

He  was  rather  under  middle  age  ;  dark,  with  keen 
eyes,  full  lips  and  a  hard,  watchful  look.  His  manners 
were  neither  good  nor  bad.  He  was  a  man  of  business, 
reputed  to  be  very  wealthy,  and  a  favorite  lieutenant  of 
a  noted  "  Oil  King,"  who  was  the  financial  nabob  of  the 
region — a  near  kinsman  of  the  most  remarkable  financial 
prodigy  of  this  or  any  other  age. 

As  I  drew  near  I  heard  Martling  ask  : 

"  Fitting  out  for  a  cruise,  Osborne  ?  " 

*' A  cruise?  Bless  your  soul,"  said  the  lank  sailor, 
looking  at  his  interlocutor  and  sending  a  stream  of  tobacco 
juice  over  the  rail,  ''no  sech  good  luck  ez  that.  It's  e'en 
a'most  two  years  now  sence  I  had  a  good  sniff  of  salt  water, 
sech  as  blows  on  t'other  side  of  the  Island,  you  know,  an'  I 
did  hope  the  old  man  would  make  up  his  mind  for  a  real, 
old-fashioned  vy'ge  this  year.  So  I  had  her  cleaned  up  and 
overhauled  from  stem  to  starn,  all  on  my  own  notion,  you 
know,  thinkin'  the  sight  on  her  in  clean  clothes  might  set 


210  EIGHTY- NIKE. 

his  head  in  that  direction.  An'  what  do  ye  suppose  I  got 
f er  my  pains,  Mr.  Martlin'  ?  " 

"Why,  your  wages." 

"  Of  course,  of  course  ;  every  man  always  gits  his  jest 
dues  that  deals  with  the  ohl  man." 

"  He  does,  eh?  "  said  Martling,  with  a  half  sneer,  as  I 
thought. 

"  That's  what  he  does,"  answered  the  sailor,  emphati- 
cally ;  "  if  he  deals  fair,  that  is.  What  I  was  alludin'  to 
wasn't  pay,  exactly,  but  favor." 

"Well,  Avasn't  he  pleased  with  what  you  had  done  ?'' 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  but  instid  o'  sayin'  a  word  about  the  deep 
sea,  he  jest  said  '  she  looks  nice,  don't  she  ?  You  may  git 
in  a  ton  or  two  of  coal  and  be  ready  to  take  a  company  of 
friends  round  the  Head  for  a  clambake,  on  Miss  Edith's 
birthday.'  That's  Monday,  ye  know,  an'  I  'spect  that's 
all  the  sailin'  he'll  git  time  fer  this  year.  What  sort  o' 
way's  that  fer  a  man  to  do  that's  got  sech  a  craft  as  this  ? 
A  ton  or  two  o'  coal  !  She  ought  to  have  a  hundred  in  her 
if  she  has  a  pound  ! " 

"What  is  all  this  stuff  you're  taking  on?"  inquired 
Martling  carelessly,  pointing  to  a  lot  of  boxes  on  the  little 
wharf. 

"Jest  a  lot  of  nicknacks  that  come  from  the  city  fer 
the  clam-bake.  Looks  as  if  they  was  goin'  to  have  all 
Connecticut  an'  a  squad  from  Ehode  Islan'  by  the  ice  an' 
liquors,  an'  chickin  fixin's  of  all  sorts,  from  bakers  and 


EIOHTT-NINE.  211 

confectioners  an'  the  like,  that  he's  layin'  in  fer  Monday. 
If  there  was  only  a  few  boxes  o'  good  sea  biscuits  an'  a  little 
salt  horse  a  goin'  aboard  it  would  please  me  better." 

"But  not  me,"  said  Martling  gaily. 

"  I  s'pose  not,"  said  the  skipper,  showing  a  row  of 
stained  and  irregular  teeth,  as  he  rolled  his  lip  upward  in 
what  was  meant  for  a  grin,  but  which  seemed  to  the  ob- 
server more  like  a  painful  distortion  of  his  grizzled  face. 
"'Spect  you've  got  an  iuvite,  hain'c  ye?" 

"  I  shall  be  there,  you  can  bet  your  life,"  said  Mart- 
ling,  as  he  threw  away  his  cigar  and  lit  another.  As  he 
turned  to  leave  the  wharf  we  stood  face  to  face.  I  noticed 
that  he  gave  me  a  keen  glance  as  I  came  forward.  It  will 
be  remembered  that  I  limped  slightly. 

"  Hello,  Owen  ;  come  down  to  look  after  the  cargo?" 

"  No,  indeed  ;  "  I  answered  lightly,  "I'm  too  much  of 
a  landsman  for  that.  I  have  as  great  a  dread  of  salt  water 
as  Osborne  j^rof esses  fondness  for  it." 

"So?"  he  asked,  sharply.  "By  the  way,  I've  often 
wondered  where  you  got  that  limp.  A  relic  of  the  '  wah- 
time,'  is  it,  like  everything  else  at  the  South?" 

His  tone  seemed  half  insolent,  but  I  answered,  laugh- 
ingly, "  Xo,  indeed  ;  only  the  result  of  an  awkward  adven- 
ture with  a  horse." 

"  Too  bad,  I  thought  you  were  a  hero." 

I  made  no  answer,  but  turned  and  walked  towards  the 
shore. 


212  EIGHTY-NINE. 

"See  here,  Owen,"  said  Martling,  stepping  quickly  to 
my  side,  "  I  didn't  mean  to  be  rough,  but  I'm  not  ;nuch 
on  manners,  as  you  know.  I'm  business,  nothing  but 
business — first,  last  and  all  the  time ;  and  business  don't 
feather  a  man's  tongue.  I'm  plum  straight  out,  tliough, 
Just  what  I  am,  with  no  apologies  or  cross-cuts.  There  isn't 
any  need  for  us  to  quarrel — at  least  just  now.  When  there 
is  we'll  both  know  it.  If  you  don't  object  I'd  like  to  walk 
along  with  you  and  ask  a  few  questions." 

"  You  are  at  liberty  to  ask  anything  you  choose,  Mr. 
Martling — about  myself,"  I  replied,  with  some  emphasis 
on  the  last  word. 

''  I  understand,"  he  responded  with  a  nod.  "  Yon 
don't  exactly  approve  the  way  I  have  been  pumping  Osborne. 
Well,  it  wasn't  nice,  I  admit ;  but  a  man  sometimes  has 
to  do  what  he  don't  like  himself.  But  it  is  of  yourself  I 
want  to  question  you.  What  I  want  to  know  is,  are  you 
engaged  to  Miss  Edith?" 

''And  if  I  am?"  I  asked  hotly,  turning  towards  him. 

*' In  other  words,"  said  he  coolly,  "you  mean  to  ask 
what  business  is  it  of  mine  whether  you  are  or  not.  I  don't 
know  as  I  should  care  to  tell,  and  you  are  equally  at  lib- 
erty, of  course,  to  decline  to  answer  my  question.  You 
gave  me  leave  to  ask  it,  you  remember.  If  there  is  any  reason 
why  you  do  not  wish  to  answer,  of  course  you  will  not." 

''Mr.  Martling,"  I  replied,  "I  know  nothing  of  your 


EIGHTY- NINE.  213 

motive  for  such  a  question,  and  there  is  certainly  no  reason 
why  I  should  not  answer  it — I  am  not."^ 

It  was  impossible  not  to  note  the  look  of  exultation 
that  flashed  into  his  face  as  he  heard  these  words. 

"  I  will  be  frank  with  yoU;,  however/'  I  continued,  and 
there  was  j)robably  a  touch  of  confident  pride  in  my  tone, 
"and  say  that  I  hope  to  be." 

"  Indeed? "  said  he  exultingly  ;  "  well  so  do  I.  There 
is  frankness  for  you.     Ta,  ta  !  " 

He  turned  off  along  the  foot-path  leading  to  the  luxu- 
rious house  of  his  friend,  Stoningham,  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand  and  a  light  laugh.  I  heard  him  humming  an  air 
from  a  new  comic  opera  as  he  disappeared,  for  this  hard- 
headed  and  rough-mannered  child  of  business  was  a  musical 
amateur  of  no  mean  acquirements.  I  have  heard  a  great 
deal  in  life  of  the  refining  and  ennobling  influence  of  music, 
but  if  I  had  a  son  to  advise,  I  would  impress  upon  his 
memory,  at  an  early  day,  this  warning :  ''  Beware  of  the 
man  who  sings  at  his  work  or  when  busy  with  his  thoughts.-" 

I  cannot  say  that  I  felt  seriously  disturbed  by  this 
avowed  rivalry.  Indeed,  I  found  myself  smiling  in  self- 
satisfaction  as  I  listened  to  the  confident  strains  that 
echoed  from  the  elm-bordered  path  along  which  my  rival  had 
gone.  I  felt  that  he  had  waited  too  long,  and  that  even 
with  his  millions  he  could  not  hope  to  succeed.  Yet  I 
remembered,  with  some  trepidation,  the  uncertainty  at- 
tending the  breaking  of  the  seals  which  hid  my  father's 
curiously-guarded  behest. 


CHAPTEE  XXI. 

That  evening  we  were  to  be  alone — General  Fairbanks, 
Edith,  my  mother  and  I.  A  large  company  had  been  in- 
vited for  Edith's  twenty-first  birthday.  As  some  of  the 
guests  would  arrive  the  next  day,  it  was  decided  that  the 
missive  my  father  had  left  should  be  opened  that  night. 
It  was  still  in  Edith's  possession  and  we  two  were  to  read 
it  first  alone  together.  A  pretty  little  room  in  the  tourelle, 
that  hung  like  a  crystal  cage  above  the  main  entrance  of  the 
Lodge,  overlooking  the  river  and  giving  glimpses  of  the 
Sound  from  its  broad  windows  had  been  our  favorite  tryst- 
ing-place.  Here  we  went,  therefore,  to  read  the  letter 
which  the  dear,  dead  hand  had  penned  so  long  before,  in 
the  midst  of  war's  alarms. 

The  sun  was  just  sinking  as  I  opened  the  envelope. 
Edith  went  to  the  window  and  stood  looking  out  upon 
the  river  while  I  glanced  hastily  at  its  contents.  I  called 
her,  and  as  she  turned  I  noticed  the  yacht  lying  quietly  at 
her  wharf  and  Osborne  walking  back  and  forth  beside  the 
white  tarpaulin  that  covered  the  boxes  which  were  piled  up 
beside  it.  I  wondered  what  sort  of  a  fete  the  great  financier 
was  going  to  give  his  daughter,  for  which  such  elaborate  pre- 
parations were  being  made.  For  the  first  time,  I  think,  I 
realized  what  an  infinite  distance  there  was  between  us, 

214 


EIGHTY. NINE.  215 

measured  by  the  standard  of  the  life  which  surrounded  her. 
I  had  never  thought  much  of  General  Fairbanks's  wealth  or 
his  daughter's  relation  to  it.  I  did  not  covet  it  for  myself 
ncr  for  her.  Indeed,  I  would  have  preferred  that  she  should 
be  dependent  on  me  for  everything  she  enjoyed.  Love  is 
very  selfish  and  fond  of  the  luxury  of  conferring  favor.  I 
knew  her  father  was  rej)uted  wealthy.  His  triumphs  and 
reverses  had  been  heralded  from  time  to  time  in  the  public 
prints.  He  was  counted  at  least  a  millionaire.  And  it 
was  his  daughter  to  whose  hand  I  aspired — nay,  whose  love 
I  had  never  questioned,  and  to  a  union  with  whom  I  had 
looked  forward  as  a  matter  of  course. 

I  thought  of  all  this  with  wonder  as  she  came  and 
seated  herself  in  a  low  chair  just  in  front  of  mine,  waiting 
in  quiet  expectancy  for  me  to  speak.  She  was  not  beauti- 
ful, but  so  delicately  fair  that  I  trembled  as  I  looked  into 
the  great  dark  eyes,  shaded  by  long  lashes,  and  thought 
how  frail  the  tenement  that  held  the  love  which  even  a 
sense  of  her  father's  wealth  could  not  make  me  doubt. 
There  was  a  look  of  apprehension  on  her  face  which  I  made 
haste  to  dispel,  saying  as  I  reached  out  and  took  her  hand 
in  mine  : 

"  It  is  all  right,  sweetheart.  There  is  nothing  to  fear." 
A  sigh  of  relief  answered  my  words.  Then  holding  her  hand 
in  mine  I  read  to  her  the  words  my  father  had  written  in 
view  of  his  probable  death.  When  I  concluded  we  both  re- 
mained silent  for  a  long  time.     Then  she  said,  solemnly  : 


216  EIOUTY-NINE. 

''  What  a  strange  letter! '' 

"  But  you  see,  dear,  there  is  nothing  unfavorable  in  it." 

''Unfavorable — to  what?" 

*'  Why  to  our  love,  of  course/' 

"  How  could  there  be  ?  " 

"  But  you  know  3'our  father  was  unwilling  that  we 
should  consider  ourselves  engaged  until  we  kuew  the  con- 
tents of  this  letter." 

"  Until  I  became  of  age,"  she  said,  correcting  me. 

"  Well,  yes — though  that  is  the  same  thing." 

*'My  birthday  will  be  on  Monday." 

"  But,  good  Heavens,  Edith,  you  do  not  mean — there 
is  nothing  else  to  intervene  ?  " 

'*  It  is  my  father's  request," — dreamily. 

**  Yes — of  course — but " 

*'  Can  you  not  wait  ?  " 

"  Yes'"— doubtingly. 

What  was  the  light  that  shone  in  her  eyes — the  flush 
that  mounted  to  her  cheeks  ?  Did  she  sigh  ?  Did  she 
bend  towards  me  ?     Did  her  lips  invite  ? 

''No,  no,  no  !"  I  cried,  impulsively,  as  I  clasped  her 
in  my  arms  and  kissed  her  again  and  again.  I  felt  her 
breath  upon  my  lips  ;  her  heart  beat  against  mine.  Ah, 
how  tender  was  this  Avoman  who  lay  in  my  arms  rewarding 
my  faithfulness  but  not  recognizing  my  right.  1  knew 
that  she  granted  me  this  for  my  long  waiting — that  I 
might  know  her  heart  was  mine,  vet  not  be  emboldened  to 


EIGHTY-NINE.  217 

claim  what  she  might  not  be  able  to  bestow.  She  hoped, 
but  dared  not  even  yet  believe  ;  loved,  but  could  not  plight 
her  faith.  I  knew  then,  even  in  the  midst  of  my  rapture, 
that  she  would  not  hesitate  to  crush  the  love  she  allowed 
me  to  see,  rather  than  confessed,  should  any  demand  of 
duty  make  it  necessary.  Such  was  the  significance  of  this 
embrace.  It  was  enough.  I  did  not  ask  for  more.  Yet 
even  as  I  kissed  her  lips  I  seemed  to  hear  Martling's  laugh- 
ing declaration  of  rivalry,  and  half-mistrusted  my  good 
fortune.  It  is  so  fitting  that  millions  should  match  with 
millions. 

''Had  you  not  better  take  it  to  your  mother? "said 
Edith,  gently  releasing  herself  and  picking  up  the  letter 
from  the  floor,  where  it  had  fallen,  "  She  will  be  very 
anxious,  and  papa  too,  to  know  what  it  contains." 

**  Will  you  not  come  with  me?"  detaining  her  hand  in 
mine. 

She  pushed  the  hair  back  from  her  temple  with  the 
other  hand  and  shook  her  head  as  she  gave  me  an  arch 
glance  from  under  the  long  lashes.  My  grasp  tightened 
on  her  hand.     "  May  I  come  back  ?  " 

I  knew  my  voice  trembled.  The  blush  flamed  into 
crimson  in  her  face.  She  gazed  into  my  eyes  appealingly 
as  she  drew  her  hand  slowly  from  my  grasp. 

"Not  to-night — please." 

Could  ever  bashalic  love  deny  such  a  request?  But  the 
soft  lips  did  not  refuse  tribute  for  my  grace. 


218  EIGHTY-NINE. 

My  brain  teemed  with  tender  visions  as  I  went  down 
the  stairs  and  sought  the  library,  where  my  mother  and 
General  Fairbanks  waited  for  my  coming.  AVhat  was  it 
checked  the  song  of  gladness  in  my  heart? 

The  door  of  the  library  stood  ajar.  As  I  crossed  the 
line  of  light  that  flashed  into  the  dark  hall,  I  saw  my 
mother  with  her  head  uj) raised,  her  white  throat  bare  and 
throbbing,  while  over  her  bent — Ambrose  Fairbanks!  Did 
their  lips  meet?  Was  his  arm  around  her?  Or  had  love 
so  distorted  my  vision  that  all  things  bore  to  me  the  sem- 
blance of  caresses?  I  stopped,  confused,  overwhelmed  with 
— I  knew  not  what  sense  of  shame  and  grief. 

I  did  not  know  that  I  made  any  sound  but  I  must 
have  done  so,  for  I  saw  my  mother  thrust  him  gently  aside, 
not  hastily  nor  rebukingly,  walk  calmly  to  the  door,  and 
say  in  a  voice  as  full  of  love  as  ever  fell  upon  my  childish 
ear, 

'*  Is  it  you,  my  son  ?    Come  in." 

I  went  dumbly  forward  and  put  into  her  hands  her 
husband's  last  message,  w^hile  he  who  had  been  that  hus- 
band's dearest  foe  stood  smiling  quietly  upon  us. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  she  asked,  gazing  into  my  face 
with  a  troubled  look  ;  "Nothing  unpleasant,  I  hope." 

"Oh,  mother,  mother!     How  could  it  be?" 

I  put  my  arms  about  her  and  kissed  her  as  it  had 
always  been  my  wont  to  do  in  joy  or  sadness.  I  had  meant 
to  whisper  something  of  my  rapture  in  her  ear,  but  my 


EIGHTY. NINE.  219 

heart  was  now  like  lead,  and  there  were  tears  upon  her 
cheek  when  I  released  her  from  my  embrace. 

"  How  could  he  send  any  unpleasant  message  to  us — 
to  me  ?  "  I  corrected. 

My  mother  seemed  surprised  at  my  vehemence. 

"  True — true  enough,"  she  said,  composedly,  as  she 
wiped  the  tears  from  her  face. 

I  went  out — into  the  night — to  think.  It  seemed  as 
if  the  house  would  smother  me,  it  was  so  full  of  strange 
extremes.  A  storm  was  coming  up  the  valley.  One  half 
the  heavens  were  black,  the  other  bright  and  starry.  The 
lightning  played  about  the  edges  and  opened  fiery,  dazzling 
pits  in  the  black  void  that  stretched  from  the  zenith  down 
to  the  sea,  whose  hoarse,  sobbing  moans  came  to  my  ears 
on  the  freshening  breeze.  I  looked  up  at  the  sky  and 
laughed.  Which  was  real — the  bright,  placid  northern 
hemisphere  or  the  black,  flame-gashed  southern  sky. 

Was  Nature  playing  tricks  with  me?  What  had  I 
seen?  What  had  I  felt?  Was  the  taste  of  kisses  yet  upon 
my  lips — love's  kisses?  My  mother?  Faugh!  My  mother! 
Love,  indeed,  had  crazed  my  brain  or — photographed  its 
bliss  upon  my  retina! 

My  thoughts  grew  calmer  as  the  storm   drew  near, 
and  when  the  first  great  drops  came  plashing  down,  I  re 
turned  to  the  house  and  went  to  my  bed  to  sleep  the  quiet 
sleep  of  youth  and  dream  the  blissful  dream  of  love. 


220  EIGHTY-NINE. 

The  morrow  came  aud  went  as  only  summer  days  can 
come  and  go.  The  liouse  was  full  of  pleasant  company. 
Of  General  Fairbanks  I  saw  little,  but  my  mother  was  every- 
where, and  with  her  always  Edith,  and  both  were  radiant. 
In  the  afternoon  we  had  a  long  talk  about  my  father's  let- 
ter and  the  strange  duty  he  had  enjoined  upon  me.  Most 
unexpectedly,  I  found  my  mother  inclined  to  second  his 
injunction. 

''  Of  course,"  she  said,  "it  does  not  seem  possible,  per- 
haps hardly  desirable  now  ;  but  your  father  was  a  very 
wise  man.  He  used  to  make  me  tremble  sometimes  with 
the  intensity  of  his  knowledge — if  I  may  use  that  expres- 
sion— I  mean  his  faculty  of  knowing  what  others  did  not 
know,  would  not  know,  or,  as  I  sometimes  thought,  could 
not  know.  Yet  it  was  all  so  plain  to  him.  He  had  a 
strange  power  of  compelling  the  future,  as  it  were,  to 
give  up  to  him  what  it  hid  from  others.  General  Fair- 
banks was  very  much  imjiressed  with  the  contents  of  the 
letter.  He  says  that  events  have  strangely  confirmed  Avhat 
your  father  predicted,  and  the  future  promises  still  further 
corroboration.  As  for  the  final  result,  it  is,  of  course,  a 
great  wrench  to  him  to  think  it  possible.  He  says  he  never 
dreamed  of  such  a  thing  before.  He  has  looked  upon  the 
War  for  Separation  as  the  end  of  every  possible  difference 
of  that  sort ;  but  he  says  there  is  a  sense  of  reality  about 
your  father's  views  that  he  cannot  resist.  It  seems  as  if 
there  were  no  other  way — as  if  the  general  good,  which  to 


EIGHTY-NINE.  221 

liim  is  always  an  irresistible  fate — pointed  inflexibly  in  the 
direction  of  your  father^s  prophecy.  He  thinks  it  will  be 
a  long  time  in  coming,  however,  and  that  you  may,  very 
probably,  be  older  than  your  father  was  when  the  crisis  of 
the  national  fate  came  upon  him,  before  you  will  be  called 
to  act  in  the  matter — if,  indeed,  you  should  really  ever 
have  to  act  at  all. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  my  son,  what  a  relief  this  is  to 
me,"  she  added  with  a  sigh.  "  Now  I  am  sure  there  will 
be  no  separation — no  obstacle  I  mean.  You  and  Edith  can 
be  very  happy — whatever  may  haj)pen  to  me." 

There  was  something  in  her  tone  I  did  not  quite  un- 
derstand, and  a  troubled,  absent  look  upon  her  face,  while 
she  talked  with  me,  that  was  unusual.  She  was  very  ten- 
der, however,  and  when  she  came  into  my  room,  after  she 
had  dressed  for  dinner,  I  was  quite  enraptured  with  her 
loveliness.  When  I  bent  and  kissed  the  roses  at  her  throat, 
she  tapped  my  cheek  playfully  with  her  fan,  and  said  it 
was  evident  that  she  must  go  away  or  make  trouble  be- 
tween me  and  Edith.  Of  course,  such  jaleasant  banter 
was  by  no  means  disagreeble  to  me,  and  I  doubt  if  ever  son 
was  prouder  of  a  mother  than  I  of  the  beautiful  woman 
who  went  down  the  broad  stairway  of  Sagamo  Lodge  that 
evening  on  my  arm.  Even  after  the  day  was  over  and  the 
gay  company  asleep,  she  seemed  still  to  be  with  me.  I 
dreamed  I  was  a  boy  again  and  thought  she  bent  over  my 


223  EIGHTY-NINE. 

couch  while  the  fragrance  of  the  roses  filled  the  moonlit 
night.  But  somehow  in  my  dreams  the  scene  I  had  wit- 
nessed in  the  library  would  obtrude,  and  I  saw  again  our 
host's  silvery  moustache  brushing  her  fair  cheek. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

The  calm  of  the  summer  Sabbath  was  over  the  land 
when  I  awoke.  There  was  a  knock  at  my  door— not  the 
matter-of-course  tap  of  the  trained  domestic,  but  a  hurried, 
agitated  rap  upon  the  panel.  I  sat  up  in  bed,  too  much 
surprised  to  answer.  What  sudden  prescience  was  it  that 
translated  the  light  touch  upon  the  door  into  a  precursor 
of  evil?  I  had  no  reason  to  anticipate  ill,  but  a  nameless 
terror  forced  my  heart  into  my  throat.  I  knew,  I  know 
not  how,  that  it  was  Edith  who  stood  without — her  face 
pale,  her  mind  distraught,  and  her  heart  overwhelmed 
with  some  grievous  woe.  What  could  it  be  ?  Had  fate 
come  again  between  us  ?  Had  death  crept  into  the  silent 
house  ?  My  mother — her  father  !  Could  an3rthing  be  wrong 
with  them  ?  Was  it  crime,  burglary,  murder  ?  There 
seemed  to  be  a  mortal  terror  in  her  tone  as  she  rapped  again 
and  exclaimed,  in  a  low,  hurried  voice  : 

'•  Ryal!  Mr.  Owen — come  down — at  once — please — to 
the  library!     I  must  see  you!  " 

I  sprang  up,  ran  to  the  door  and  called  through  the 
dark  polished  panels  : 

"  Edith!     What  is  it?    Yes,  of  course,  coming!" 

There  was  no  answer.  I  thought  I  heard  her  footsteps 
stealing — no,  dragging,  cautiously  yet  heavily  away  towards 
223 


224  EIQBTY-NINE. 

the  stairs.  I  began  to  dress  hurriedly  with  a  chill,  numb 
feeling.  I  knew  I  was  pale  and  breathing  short  and  quick. 
I  heard  her  step  approaching  the  door  again.  How  well  I 
knew  it!  I  had  listened  to  it  so  often,  with  the  pleasure 
that  comes  from  noting  unconsciously  the  attributes  of 
those  we  love.  Could  this  be  hers — Edith's?  Again  she 
knocked — softly — stealthily ! 

"  Yes  ?"  I  answered,  inquiringly. 
Why  did  my  voice  sink  to  a  whisper?  Did  I  read  the 
heart  as  well  as  see  the  blanched  face  beyond  the  solid  oak  ? 
I  knew  she  was  not  thinking  of  me — that  she  did  not  come 
to  me  for  refuge,  shelter,  guidance — but  to  direct  and  com- 
mand. There  was  a  throb  of  pain  as  I  felt  myself  over- 
shadowed, then  a  thrill  of  delight  at  the  thought  that  I 
might  serve. 

'^Kyal!" 

^'Yes?" 

We  were  both  whispering,  yet  how  clear  was  every 
syllable!  It  seemed  as  if  I  could  feel  the  throbbing  nerves 
of  the  slender  hand  whose  finger-tips  rested  against  the 
door. 

*'  Come  as  gently  as  you  can." 

*' All  right." 

"And  as  quickly." 

^' I  will." 

Then  the  dragging  steps  went  away. 

Just  as  I  flung  on  my  coat  something  white  on  the 


EIGHTY-NINE.  225 

carpet,  near  the  head  of  the  bed,  attracted  my  atten- 
tion. I  crossed  the  room  and  picked  it  up.  It  was  the 
spray  of  roses  which  my  mother  had  worn  in  her  corsage 
and  I  had  playfully  kissed  when  she  came  into  my  room 
before  we  went  down  to  dinner  the  day  before.  It  was  a 
cluster  of  the  creamy-white  Gold  of  Ophir,  plucked  from  a 
plant  brought  from  Kyalniont.  How  splendidly  it  had 
harmonized  with  her  abundant  charms,  the  full,  rounded 
bust,  the  radiant  face,  the  tender,  beaming  eyes,  the  shin- 
ing golden  hair,  the  graceful  form  clad  in  silk  of  a  mellow 
russet-bronze,  bordered  at  the  neck  and  sleeves  with  filmy 
lace.  The  old  home  with  its  luxuriant  embowerings  rose 
before  me  as  I  recognized  the  faded  flowers  and  smiled  at  the 
jealousy  which  had  filled  my  dreams.  Why  should  not  Am- 
brose Fairbanks  woo  and  win  so  fair  a  woman?  Why 
should  his  kisses  seem  so  terrible  a  thing  to  me?  What 
right  had  I — ?  Ah,  none,  none  ;  save  that  she  was  mine — 
my  worshiped  mother — all  that  was  left  me  of  the  past. 

A  piece  of  paper  was  twisted  about  the  stems,  the  ends 
slipped  through  a  ring  in  which  glittered  a  single  diamond. 
I  hastily  unwound  it,  opened  a  shutter,  and  read  : 

''  My  Son : 

"  Forgive  me  for  having  hidden  anything  from  you. 
Edith  will  tell  you  all.  Poor  girl — it  will  be  very  hard  for 
her.  She  is  not  strong  and  I  fear  the  shock  may  be  more 
than  she  can  bear.  You  must  be  very  careful  of  her.  I 
leave  you  my  engagement  ring  and  hope  you  will  put  it  on 
her  finger  before  the  sun  sets  on  Monday.     Don't  let  the 


226  EIGHTY-NINE. 

clouds  terrify  you.  Take  her  to  Ryalmont  and  wait  for 
the  sunshine.  You  have  not  much,  but  in  our  dear  native 
South,  where  honor  and  worth  are  not  estimated  by  a  gold 
standard,  it  will  be  enough.  My  duty  calls  me  away,  but 
I  shall  come  to  you  again,  my  son,  and  until  then  I  leave 
you — nay,  I  shall  daily  send  you — the  unnumbered  blessings 
of  a  mother-love  no  other  love  can  quench.  M.  F." 

So  what  I  had  dreaded  had  come,  and  now  that  I 
knew  it  to  be  a  fact  I  was  no  longer  troubled.  I  was  hardly 
surprised — nay,  shall  I  admit  it? — I  think  I  was  glad,  glad 
for  her  sake  and  for  the  man  whom  I  so  highly  honored. 

I  was  not  mistaken,  then.  My  mother  had  come  to  my 
room,  and  no  doubt  had  bent  over  me  and  kissed  me  as  I  had 
dreamed.  It  was  like  her  to  bring  me  the  flowers,  too,  with 
the  note  quaintly  fastened  about  their  stems  with  the  ring 
my  father  had  placed  upon  her  finger  when  he  wooed  her 
under  the  live-oaks  by  the  placid  Oconee.  She  had  showed 
me  the  very  place  when  we  were  summoned  there  by  my 
grandfather's  death,  more  than  a  year  before.  Perhaps 
she  thought  I  might  have  witnessed  the  scene  in  the  library 
and  wished  to  reassure  me  of  her  love.  Dear  mother!  She 
need  not  have  feared  my  displeasure.  I  could  not  have 
been  long  displeased  by  anything  she  might  do.  I  loved 
her  so  that  I  did  not  wonder  that  the  father  of  Edith  should 
love  her  also.  Now  that  I  thought  of  it,  it  seemed  very 
natural  and  very  proper,  too.  It  even  flashed  through 
my  mind,  with  a  sort  of  whimsical  effect,  that  it  would  be 
a  fair  exchange — my  mother  for  his  daughter. 


EIGHTY. NINE.  227 

This  brought  Edith  and  her  summons  to  my  mind.  I 
stole  out  of  the  room  and  along  the  silent  hall.  The 
morning  sunshine  was  vainly  striving  to  make  its  way 
through  the  closed  shutters.  It  was  yet  early  and  the  ser- 
vants were  not  astir,  though  a  bell  was  calling  to  early 
mass  in  a  village  across  the  river.  Its  soft  notes  fell  upon 
my  ear  as  I  entered  the  library,  the  door  of  which  stood 
ajar  as  if  waiting  for  my  coming.  Edith  had  opened  the 
the  upper-half  of  a  shutter  and  stood  gazing  out  upon  the 
river.  The  light  fell  upon  her  face.  What  had  changed  it? 
It  was  not  so  much  pallor  as  hopelessness  that  showed  in 
its  lineaments.  She  seemed  to  have  grown  suddenly  old. 
The  lines  of  her  mouth  were  relaxed  ;  the  eyes  had  lost 
their  fire ;  the  lids  drooj^ed  nervelessly ;  a  dull,  hopeless- 
ness seemed  to  have  settled  on  her.  Ah,  me  ;  I  little  knew 
what  these  signs  portended! 

"  Edith!  what  is  it?  "  I  half  whispered  as  I  closed  the 
door  and  stepped  quickly  to  her  side.  She  waved  her  hand 
towards  the  river  and  said  hoarsely  : 

''Do  you  not  see?" 

I  scanned  the  placid  surface  which  the  morning  breeze 
broke  into  sparkling  ripples,  and  shook  my  head. 

''I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said,  with  quiet  bitterness, 
*'it  is  what  you  do  not  see — what  is  gone!" 

"  What  is  gone?  "  I  said  with  a  great  fear  in  my  heart. 

"  Do  you  miss  nothing  ?  " 


328  EIGHTY-NINE. 

How  had  I  been  so  blind?  The  little  wharf  was  steam- 
ing in  the  sunshine,  but  the  yacht  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

*'  She  has  gone  up  the  river  to  coal/'  I  suggested. 

*'  She  has  gone — to  sea/'  she  answered,  positively. 

"And  your  father?"  My  voice  trembled.  She  turned 
towards  me  with  a  dull,  pitying  look. 

*' And  your  mother." 

What  caused  the  sickening  fear  that  came  over  me  ? 
I  knew  nothing  to  account  for  my  agitation.  Was  there 
anything  I  did  not  know?  Or  was  it  the  mere  sense  of 
mystery  that  daunted  me?  Her  father — my  mother — fled 
— by  night!  That  was  all  I  knew.  Where?  Why?  These 
were  the  questions  my  heart  asked  and  feared  to  have  an- 
swered. The  sunlit  river  showed  no  track.  What  lay  beyond  ? 
Crime?  I  shuddered,  but  denied  stoutly,  angrily  in  my  heart. 
Shame?  My  face  flushed.  God  forgive  me,  for  an  instant 
I  doubted  even  my  mother's  purity!  The  kiss  I  had  wit- 
nessed— the  flight — the  mystery — but  no,  it  could  not  be! 
My  mother — my  beautiful  mother — my  adored,  my  peer- 
less mother!  The  shadow  of  im2:)utation  could  never  rest 
upon  her!  Then  I  remembered  the  signature  of  the  note 
I  yet  held  in  my  hand—"  M.  F." 

My  heart  leajoed  with  gladness.  I  held  it  ujd  before 
her,  pointing  to  the  initials,  and  said,  gleefully, 

"  She  is  your  mother  too!  They  have  gone  on  a  bridal 
trip!" 


EIGHTY  NINE.  229 

She  smiled  a  weak,  sad  smile  that  renewed  my  fears. 
"  What  is  it,  Edith?    What  do  you  know? " 
She  pointed  to  a  letter  on  the  table  and  sank  wearily 
into  a  chair,  while  I  read. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

My  dear  Daughter : 

I  can  imagine  the  consternation  you  will  feel  on 
reading  this  letter ;  yet  I  hope  you  will  bear  up  bravely 
as  becomes  the  daughter  of  one  who,  though  unable  longer 
to  resist,  is  too  proud  to  surrender,  even  to  fate.  I  would 
rather  be  nothing  than  remain  among  our  people  and  be 
less  than  I  have  been. 

At  one  time  you  no  doubt  anticipated  trouble  and  loss  ; 
but  I  do  not  suppose  you  ever  looked  upon  absolute  im- 
poverishment as  a  possibility,  or  dreamed  that  your  father's 
name  might  be  associated  with  crime  as  well  as  misfortune. 

Long  before  you  read  these  lines  I  shall  be  a  fugi- 
tive— a  fugitive  from  justice,  the  newspapers  Avill  say — 
without  anything  I  can  call  my  own  except  the  yacht  and 
her  equipment.  Even  these  are  really  the  property  of  the 
noble  woman  who  is  the  companion  of  my  exile,  and  who 
has  robbed  herself  and  her  son  to  lighten  my  misfortune 
and  relieve  my  present  exigency.  We  thought  to  surprise 
you  with  a  double  wedding,  and  hoped  until  almost  the 
last  moment  that  this  exodus  might  be  avoided.  Finding 
that  we  must  choose  between  two  evils,  we  decided  to  take 
what  seemed  the  least.  Detectives  have  been  upon  my 
track  for  some  time,  and  an  indictment  was  found  against 

230 


EIGHTY. NINE.  231 

me  on  yesterday.  But  for  this  fact,  the  lapse  of  time 
would  have  barred  prosecution  on  the  offence  charged, 
to-day — for  it  is  past  midnight  now — and  I  should  have 
been  able  to  observe  your  birthday  to-morrow  without 
apprehension — once  more  a  free  man,  released  from  the 
horrible  possibility  which  has  hung  over  my  life  so  long. 

I  have  suspected  that  my  enemy  would  take  this 
course,  and  with  the  aid  of  Mrs.  Owens — now  Mrs.  Fairbanks 
— have  arranged  to  meet  it  and  baffle  those  whose  malice 
has  followed  me  with  such  persistency.  Under  pretense  of 
preparing  for  your  fete  the  Wanderer  has  been  fairly  well 
victualled  for  a  cruise.  Osborne,  whose  faithfulness  can 
be  relied  on,  will  take  on  coal  enough  for  a  voyage  to-night 
and  be  at  the  wharf  at  two  o'clock.  If  nothing  prevents,  we 
shall  board  her  then,  and  ''they'll  have  fleet  steeds  that 
follow."  I  think  my  enemy  has  been  thrown  off  his  guard 
by  the  preparations  for  your  birthday.  Instead  of  confec- 
tions the  boxes  contained  substantial  stores.  The  yacht, 
you  know,  stands  very  near  the  head  of  her  class,  and  as 
it  is  the  last  time  she  will  carry  American  colors,  I  mean 
that  she  shall  do  credit  to  the  flag  at  her  peak. 

It  is  strange  that  I  should  feel  exhilaration  at  the 
thought  of  leaving  my  native  land  under  such  circum- 
stances, but  I  have  watched  the  toils  that  have  been  woven 
about  me  so  long,  that  I  am  almost  gleeful  at  the  thought 
of  escaping  from  them.  I  know  it  will  leave  a  terrible 
burden  of  sorrow  and  humiliation  for  you  to  bear,  but  it 


232  EIGHTY-NINE. 

would  have  been  even  worse  had  I  remained  without  the 
hope  of  retrieval  that  we  now  have.  If  we  succeed — and  I 
think  we  shall — in  eluding  our  enemy,  I  hope  yet  to  recoup 
my  fortune  and  more  than  rejiay  you  for  any  sacrifice  you 
may  have  to  make  on  my  account.  Some  investments 
made  almost  as  an  act  of  charity  some  years  ago  in  a  foreign 
land  promise  rich  returns,  I  go  to  give  them  my  atten- 
tion. Should  I  succeed,  you  will  see  your  father  again  ; 
but  I  doubt  if  Ambrose  Fairbanks  is  ever  heard  'of  more.  I 
have  determined  to  sink  my  individuality,  and  under 
another  name  either  win  a  new  success  or  hide  the  shame 
of  failure. 

I  do  not  care  to  return  here  to  defend  or  justify  my 
past.  All  my  pride  and  ambition  are  gone — even  my  pa- 
triotism is  dead.  I  could  never  again  be  anything  in  my 
native  land  but  an  object  of  suspicion  to  the  people  whose 
esteem  I  have  prized  above  all  other  things.  I  should  be  a 
stranger  in  the  nation  for  whose  life  I  freely  offered  my 
own.  You  will,  of  course,  not  think  of  remaining  here  to 
face  the  storm  of  obloquy  and  derision  that  will  greet 
the  knowledge  of  my  departure.  You  will  not  wait  to  hear 
your  father  denounced  as  a  miscreant  by  those  who  have 
claimed  to  be  his  best  friends — aye,  by  those  who  owe  to  his 
favor  all  they  possess  of  fortune  or  repute.  The  letter  Gen- 
eral Owen  left  for  Ryal  first  opened  my  eyes  to  the  fact 
that  the  South  will  offer  a  refuge  to  you  from  the  relentless 


EIOnTY-NINE.  233 

scorn  of  a  people  to  whose  favor  access  is  obtainable  only 
by  a  golden  key. 

You  will  have  but  little,  when  you  have  redeemed  my 
name  from  the  odium  of  insolvency,  but  with  Ryal's  pro- 
fession it  will  be  enough.  I  shall  always  think  of  you  as 
living  contented  and  happy  upon  the  embowered  hillside 
whose  beauty  even  the  storm  of  battle  sj)ared.  The  power 
to  indulge  in  unlimited  luxury  is  not  there  the  sole  test  of 
social  merit,  and  as  the  wife  of  Eyal  Owen  you  will  be  the 
peer  of  the  highest  and  proudest,  though  you  may  have 
no  surplus  thousands  at  your  disposal.  It  is  strange  that 
what  we  have  been  accustomed  to  consider  the  stronghold 
of  aristocracy,  should  be  the  only  portion  of  our  land 
where  society  is  not  built  on  a  purely  monetary  basis.  There 
it  is  still  possible,  not  merely  to  be  poor  and  also  respecta- 
ble, but  to  be  welcome  in  society  without  being  rich. 

My  bitterest  regret  is  that  you  will  be  involved  in  my 
misfortune.  I  have  striven  not  without  success  to  preserve 
the  estate  inherited  from  your  mother  from  depreciation. 
You  will  find  it — one  half  the  Mills  and  Sagamo  Lodge, 
with  certain  stocks — ready  for  your  disposal  on  coming  of 
age.  It  will  be  for  you  to  decide,  when  you  read  the  state- 
ment I  shall  leave,  whether  you  will  retain  it  for  your  own 
use  or  devote  it  to  the  payment  of  the  only  debt  for  which 
I  am  liable.  I  do  not  doubt  that  you  will  choose  to  extin- 
guish the  debt  even  at  the  sacrifice  of  the  greater  part  of 
your  property.     If  so,  I  have  arranged  a  sale  by  consum- 


•ZM  EIGHTY- NINE. 

mating  which  on  Monday,  you  will  secure  the  necessary 
funds.  It  will  only  afford  you  the  barren  satisfaction  of 
saying  that  your  father  owes  no  man  a  farthing,  but  I  think 
you  will  not  hesitate  to  do  it.  I  have  arranged  for  my 
lawyer  and  the  party  who  wishes  to  purchase  to  come  out 
on  the  eight  o'clock  train  Monday  morning.  The  papers  are 
all  ready  for  your  signature  and  the  money  will  be  paid 
over  on  their  execution.  The  note  for  which  I  am  liable 
falls  due  on  the  same  day.  I  understand  that  it  is  the 
property  of  Mr.  Stoningham,  or  of  the  Rock  Gil  Trust 
Company,  of  the  president  of  which  he  is  a  relative. 
Mr.  Martling  will  bring  it  and  the  hypothecated  securi- 
ties when  he  calls  on  Monday.  Should  you  conclude 
to  pay  the  same,  my  legal  adviser,  Mr.  Alson,  an  old 
comrade  and  a  most  worthy  man  whom  I  would  advise  you 
to  retain,  will  transfer  to  you  certain  properties  you  Avill  find 
mentioned  in  the  enclosed  statement.  I  trust  they  will 
sometime  remunerate  you  for  the  sacrifice  their  possession 
will  cost. 

In  regard  to  the  matter  which  will,  no  doubt,  affect 
you  more  deeply  than  the  fact  of  my  insolvency — though 
you  will  find  that  the  society  in  which  you  have  been 
accustomed  to  move  would  forgive  it  far  more  readily — the 
fact  that  I  am  fleeing  as  an  indicted  criminal.  You  Avill 
see  by  the  enclosed  statement  that  the  act  of  which  I  am 
accused,  at  the  worst,  was  without  purpose  to  harm,  and, 
if  you  shall  pay  the  debt  to  which  I  have  alluded,  no  one 


EIGHTY-NINE.  235 

will  have  sustained  loss  by  any  act  of  mine  except  our- 
selves. All  the  rest  I  have  made  good.  Mr.  Alson  may 
tell  you  that  I  am  not  even  technically  guilty  of  the  charge 
against  me.  He  has  so  advised  me,  but  I  think  it  not  wise 
to  remain  and  fight  for  my  good  name  with  a  power  so 
malignant  and  omnipotent  as  the  great  monopoly  which 
is  the  real  prosecutor. 

It  has  been  intimated  to  me  that  if  I  would  part  with 
the  rights  Mr.  Alson  will  convey  to  you,  and  consent  to 
your  marriage  with  Mr.  Martling,  the  debt  would  be  forgiven 
and  the  prosecution  dropped.  I  have  managed  to  postpone 
any  consideration  of  this  until  your  birthday,  and  by  assur- 
ing Mr.  Martling  that  you  would  not  enter  into  any  matri- 
monial engagement  until  that  time.  This  you  know  I 
could  safely  do,  having  your  promise  to  that  effect. 

You  will  pardon  me,  Edith,  for  having  seemed  to  make 
traffic  of  your  future.  I  could  not  well  do  otherwise.  If  I 
had  refused  to  listen  to  this  proposal  it  might  have  jire- 
cipitated  my  misfortune  before  you  were  able  to  act  for 
yourself  and  perhaps  have  led  to  hopeless  sacrifice  on  your 
part.  Besides,  I  will  confess  that  I  was  in  hope  my  enemy 
might  relent  or  become  careless,  so  that  his  opportunity  to 
prosecute  Avould  be  lost.  Then  we  could  have  paid  the 
debt  and  eventually  have  retrieved  our  loss,  without  any 
impairment  of  personal  character  or  prestige. 

Mr.  Martling  will,  no  doubt,  inform  you  that  he  has  my 
leave  to  address  you  as  a  suitor.     I  did  ])romise  him  that 


236  EIGHTY-NINE. 

I  would  put  no  obstacles  in  his  way.  He  will  tell  you  that 
he  alone  has  jiower  to  quash  the  prosecution  against  me. 
In  this,  too,  he  no  doubt  speaks  truly.  His  master,  Ston- 
ingham,  has  been  willing  to  favor  him  thus  far  in  his  woo- 
ing. He  is  not  a  bad  man,  neither  is  his  master.  In  love 
and  in  business  they  count  everything  fair — that  is  all. 
They  do  not  see  why  you  shoitld  not  be  coerced  through 
your  filial  love.  Such  things  are  not  so  very  infrequent 
either.  If  you  loved  Mr.  Martling  I  would  make  no  objec- 
tion to  the  conditions  offered.  I  will  not,  however,  permit 
you  to  be  constrained  to  marry  any  one  out  of  consideration 
for  my  safety  or  advantage.  I  have  promised  not  to  inter- 
fere with  your  choice,  but  you  must  be  allowed  to  choose, 
not  terrified  into  compliance  by  the  fear  of  untoward  con- 
sequences to  me.  The  course  I  am  about  to  take  will  at 
least  leave  you  free  to  consult  your  own  happiness.  It  will 
be  impossible  to  shield  me  from  suspicion.  To  sacrifice 
yourself  for  me  would  be  in  vain.  If  I  can  not  save  you 
from  humiliation,  I  can  at  least  leave  you  free  to  seek 
what  happiness  life  may  bring  without  fear  of  any  one's 
ability  to  work  me  harm. 

You  will,  no  doubt,  blame  me  for  not  sheltering  my 
good  name  behind  your  love,  but  you  must  remember  that 
to  have  done  so  would  have  been  the  most  ineffaceable  dis- 
honor. Flight  or  death  were  the  only  alternatives.  I 
chose  that  which  I  am  about  to  attempt,  knowing  that  I 
had    the    other  always  in   reserve.     Ambrose   Fairbanks 


EIGHTY-NINE.  237 

will  never  stand  in  the  prisoner's  dock  nor  plead  to 
a  felonious  accusation.  That  I  live  and  hope,  you 
will  remember,  is  in  a  great  measure  due  to  the  courage  and 
devotion  of  that  noble  woman  who  has  sacrificed  her  own 
and  her  son's  fortune  hardly  less  for  your  sake  than  for 
mine.  That  she  is  willing  to  unite  her  fate  with  mine 
gives  me  hoj^e. 

Trusting  in  her  cheerful  presage  of  happier  days,  I 
remain  with  unabated  love, 

Your  father, 

Ambrose  Fairbanks. 

P.  S. — Eemember,  that  however  unfortunate  I  may  be, 
no  man  can  claim  that  I  have  purposely  done  him  wrong 
in  any  matter,  great  or  small.  A.  F. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  he  got  away,"  I  said,  heartily,  as  I 
finished  reading.  I  had  never  had  a  Avarmer  feeling  for 
Edith's  father  than  at  that  moment.  ''  I  am  sure  I  wish 
them  a  pleasant  voyage." 

''  Oh  Eyal  ! "  Edith  spoke  reproachfully. 

I  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  She  was  folding  between 
her  fingers  an  end  of  tlie  wide  ribbon  that  confined  her 
morning  robe  at  the  waist.  I  noticed  that,  despite  what 
had  happened,  the  bows  were  tied  with  the  utmost  pre- 
cision. Her  hair  was  jjarted  evenly  on  her  forehead,  and 
nothing  but  the  weary,  distressed  look  and  the  unconscious 
action  of  her  hands  revealed  any  excitement. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Such  a  disgrace  ! "  she  exclaimed,  letting  the  plaited 
end  fall  loose  upon  her  lap. 

"  He  says  he  has  done  nothing  dishonorable." 

"  Oh — of  course." 

"  Have  you  read  the  paper  he  refers  to  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  That  explains  everything,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  It  tells  the  whole  sickening  story  " — with  a  sigh. 

''  Am  I  to  see  it  ?  " 

"  I — suppose  so — some  time." 
238 


EIGHTY-NINE.  239 

She  plaited  the  ribbon  again,  held  the  folded  edge 
between  thumb  and  finger,  and  spread  it  out  in  fan-shape 
with  the  otlier  hand,  quilling  the  ends  over  her  fingers. 

"  There  can  be  nothing  wrong — no  fraud — nor  anything 
of  that  kind  ?  " 

*'  No,  nothing  but  failure  ;  owing  money  one  cannot 
pay  " — bitterly. 

"  You  speak  as  if  there  could  be  nothing  worse." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  There  are  not  many  things  more — annoying." 

"  Honest  poverty  is  not  a  crime." 

"Not  poverty  J  but  inability  to  pay— that  is  worse 
than  a  crime." 

"Worse  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  it  is  a  sin.  '  Pay  that  thou  owest,'  that 
is  the  scriptural  rock  on  which  respectable  society  rests." 

"  But  you  will  j)ay  this  debt  ?  " 

*'  Oh,  of  course — I  hope  that  is  all." 

*'  But  you  know  it  is.     Does  he  not  expressly  say  so  ?  " 

She  held  the  fan-shaped  plaiting  up  to  the  light, 
touching  it  here  and  there  to  make  it  even  and  turning  it 
back  and  forth  as  if  studying  it  artistically.  There  was 
the  slightest  possible  movement  of  her  shoulders.  She 
made  no  other  reply.  Among  this  people  insolvency  breeds 
distrust  even  among  kindred. 

"  If  that  is  paid  T  see  no  disgrace." 
"  There  is  the  running  away." 


240  EIOHTY-NINE. 

"  He  made  a  hard  fight  and  lost.  It  is  merely  a 
change  of  base/' 

*'  In  the  presence  of  the  enemy — to  avoid  arrest  !  " 

"  On  a  malicious  prosecution." 

*'  Between  two  days." 

"  Why  not,  when  there  were  detectives  on  his  track  ?" 

"  With  a  woman,  too  !  " 

*'  My  mother,  remember." 

''  Yes,  my  father  and  your  mother  !" 

"  His  wife,  however." 

"  A  private  marriage — worse  and  worse  ! " 

''  I  supj)ose  there  is  no  harm  in  that — they  were  of 
age,"  I  said  angrily.     I  was  horrified  at  her  heartlessness. 

"There  is  some  consolation  in  that."  She  laughed 
nervously.  "  Oh  Eyal,  what  a  terrible  mess !  What  will 
they  say  ?  " 

She  smoothed  out  the  ribbon,  tossed  it  down  at  her 
side,  and  then  drew  it  through  her  fingers  to  remove  the 
plaitings. 

"  Nothing  disrespectful  of  my  mother  I "  I  answered 
hotly. 

''  Not  those  who  knew  her,  of  course  ;  but — the 
papers  ! " 

"What  of  them?" 

"  Oh,  I  can  see  them,"  she  moaned,  twisting  her 
inlocked  fingers  together  hopelessly.  "I  can  see  the  head- 
lines and  hear  the  newsbovs  shouting,   "Another  Good 


EIGHTY. NINE.  341 

Man  Gone  ! "  ^'  Gen.  Ambrose  Fairbanks  Leaves  His 
Country  For  His  Country's  Good!"  '' A  Woman  in  the 
Case  ! "  "  Romance  and  Eascality  !  "  "  One  of  Lee's 
Pursuers  flees  from  the  Sheriff  I"  "  Amount  of  his  Steal- 
ings Unknown  !  "  ''  His  Daughter's  Fortune  Swallowed 
Up ! " 

The  perspiration  broke  out  upon  my  forehead  as  I 
listened  to  her  even  tones.     Did  she  think  only  of  herself  ? 

"I  would  rather  have  died/'  she  continued — "rather 
we  all  had  died  !  Why  did  he  not  tell  me  ?  Why  did  he 
not  trust  me  ?  " 

"  What  would  have  been  the  use  ?  " 

"  I  would  have  saved  him." 

"You?" 

"  Yes ;  I  ought  to  have  done  it,  anyhow  ! " 

'^  But  you  did  not  know  of  his  difficulty." 

*'  Oh  yes  I  did — that  is,  something  of  it.  I — I — knew 
he  was  in  trouble  and  that  I  could  help  him ;  but  I — I 
hoped  it  might  not  be  so  bad.  I  could  have  endured 
poverty,  I  suppose — though  that  would  have  been  bad 
enough — and  I  never  dreamed  of  anything  more.  But  to 
be  poor  and — and  disreputable  besides  !  " 

She  rose  and  began  to  walk  back  and  forth  across  the 
room,  twisting  her  fingers  in  a  pathetic,  helpless  way. 

''  You  should  not  blame  your  father,  Edith.  He  could 
not  prevent  what  has  occurred." 

"  Oh,  I   do  not  blame  him.     I  pity  him.     He  hag 


243  EIGHTY-XINE. 

fought  so  hard  and  been  so  true — "square,"  we  call  iv 
That  is  what  he  has  always  been  proud  of — "doing  the 
square  thing."  That  means  paying  a  debt  whether  it  is 
just  or  unjust — taking  all  the  risk,  all  the  blame,  and  suf- 
fering all  the  loss  !  " 

"  He  has  done  all  that." 

"  Yes,  but  he  will  get  no  credit  for  it.  Nobody  will 
believe  it.  His  name  will  ])e  bandied  about  the  country  as 
that  of  an  absconder  as  well  as  a  failure,  perhaps  a  de- 
defaulter.  Oh  my  poor  father  !  How  he  has  suffered — 
how  he  must  still  suffer  I " 

"  But  you  Avill  pay  the  debt.  AVhat  more  could  you 
have  done  ?  " 

*'  I  might  have  saved  the  exposure." 

"  How  ?  " 

"Don't  ask  me." 

She  turned  again  to  the  window  and  stood  looking 
out  at  the  river  over  the  lower  blind,  her  back  towards  me. 

"  You  do  not  mean  that  you  would  Inive  sacrificed 
yourself  ?  "    I  asked  hoarsely. 

She  did  not  answer. 

"You  would  not  have  married  Martling!"  I  asked, 
huskily — venturing  on  what  had  been  uppermost  in  my 
mind  from  the  first. 

She  only  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Edith  !  You  would  not — you  could  not  forget  your 
love!" 


EIGHTY-NINE.  243 

*'  I  did  forget — my  duty  !  " 

She  did  not  look  around. 

''  But  you  would  not  sacrifice  your  life,  your  happi- 
ness ?  " 

Then  she  turned. 

"  What  is  my  happiness  to  my  father's  good  name  ? 
You  do  not  understand  me,  Ryal —  you  do  not  understand 
us.  You  would  die  for  honor,  but  you  care  little  for  pub- 
lic esteem.  To  us  a  good  reputation  is  more  precious  even 
than  a  consciousness  of  rectitude — to  be  scorned,  a  bitterer 
thing  than  to  deserve  ignominy.  If  your  father's  com- 
mand had  made  it  necessary  for  you  to  renounce  my  love 
you  would  have  done  it." 

I  tried  to  protest. 

"  Do  not  deny  it.  I  know  you  would.  I  should  have 
despised  you  if  you  had  not.  So  I  ought  to  have  shielded 
my  father's  fame  at  the  price  of  my  own  happiness.  That 
is  all  the  chance  a  woman  has  to  sliow  herself  worthy.  A 
man  can  do;  she  can  only  suffer." 

I  started  toward  her.     She  shrank  away. 

"  Don't,  don't  ! "  she  moaned  pitifully,  putting  up  her 
hands  to  push  me  back. 

''  But  you  will  not  think  of  such  a  thing — now  ?" 

"  I  don't  know — I  must  think.  Please,  Ryal — "  still 
ehrinking  back  with  the  white  palms  turned  towards  me. 

"  I  will  kill  him  !  "  I  said  hoarsely. 

*'And   me  too?     That  would  be  a  fine  climax.     Oh 


244  EIOHTY-NINE. 

Ryal,  you  must  help  me.  You  are  the  only  one  I  can 
trust ! ''  She  clasped  her  hands  in  pitiful,  unconscious 
pleading. 

"  You  love  me,  Edith  ?  " 

"  Do  you  doubt  it  ?  " 

"  And  yon  will  not  think — of — of  leaving  me  ?" 

"  Could  you  bear  to  have  me  pointed  at  as  tlie  daugh- 
ter of  a  fugitive — a  defaulter  ?  ''  Her  eyes  fell  as  she  ut- 
tered the  words. 

"  You  shall  not  be  !  " 

"  Oh — "  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  ''  How  will  you  pre- 
vent it  ?  " 

"  We  will  fight  them.  The  law  shall  compel  them  to 
do  justice  I" 

"  The  law  !     Can  the  law  stop  the  slanderer's  tongue?" 

"  It  can  at  least  make  him  retract  his  lie  and  smart 
for  his  wrong." 

"  Not  here,  Eyal,  not  here  in  our  moral  and  intelligent 
Northern  life,  where  the  newspaper  bears  sway.  No  man's 
honor,  no  woman's  virtue  is  safe  from  attaint  here." 

*'  Then  we  will  go  to  the  South,  where  the  child  is  not 
cursed  by  the  father's  fault — where  there  is  still  a  law  for 
the  slanderer  and  where  honor  is  accounted  better  than 
gold  ! " 

"  That  would  be  pleasant,"  she  said  with  a  sigh. 

I  put  my  arms  about  her  and  drew  her  to  me.  She 
leaned  her  head  upon  my  breast  like  a  tired  child. 


EIGHTY. NIN^.  045 

"  You  will  not  think  of — of  doing  anything  else  ?  "  I 
asked,  kissing  her  hair. 

She  sighed  again. 

"  No — not  if  I  can  help  it.  Let  me  go  now.  I  am  so 
tired." 

She  put  her  hands  against  me,  pushed  herself  feebly 
from  my  embrace,  smoothed  her  hair  unconsciously,  and 
stole  softly  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"When  she  had  gone  I  opened  the  window  and  sat  down 
to  think.  The  sunshine  poured  in,  the  dew  sparkled  ou 
the  leaves,  and  the  soft  morning  breeze  came  up  from  the 
river.  A  boat  shot  out  from  the  other  shore  and  broke 
its  way  through  the  golden  ripples.  I  watched  it  care- 
lessly. A  man  with  a  low.  narrow-brimmed  white  hat, 
carrying  a  small  cane,  stood  ui)on  the  pier  and  watched  it 
also.  Presently  the  boat  reached  the  landing,  and  its 
occupant  stepped  out  and  spoke  to  the  man  in  the  white 
hat.  As  he  glanced  towards  the  house  I  saw  it  was  one  of 
the  servants.  He  came  up  the  path  after  a  moment.  The 
other  looked  up  and  down  the  river  for  a  little  time  and 
then  sauntered  away. 

AVhen  he  had  disappeared,  my  thoughts  reverted  to 
Edith  and  her  sorrow.  Somehow  I  could  not  make  it 
seem  real.  Her  agony  appeared  extravagant,  unnatural. 
It  was  like  a  remembered  nightmai'c.  I  wondered  if  the 
sunshine  would  not  dispel  it.  I  knew  she  was  proud  and 
sensitive,  but  I  had  not  looked  to  see  her  overcome  by  any 
such  misfortune.  It  was  not  the  loss  of  luxury,  for  her 
tastes  were  simple,  and  she  had  often  sjDoken  with  ad- 
miration of  our  unpretending  southern  life.  As  I  turned 
the  matter  over  in  my  mind  I  found  myself  less  and  less  able 
246 


ElallTT-NINE.  247 

to  comprehend  the  uuattenible  agony  she  seemed  to  feel. 
Of  course,  it  was  unpleasant  to  have  her  father  depart  in 
a  surreptitious  manner,  especially  to  avoid  arrest  on  a 
criminal  charge.  But  he  had  assured  her  that  no  wrong 
had  been  intended,  and  that,  if  she  paid  his  debt,  no 
one  else  would  suffer  loss  on  account  of  it.  He  had  given 
all  his  estate  to  repair  the  fault  and  now  his  daughter 
would  give  hers.  Surely  the  strictest  commercial  code 
could  require  no  more.  Instead  of  feeling  any  sense  of 
shame  I  was  inclined  to  exult  both  in  his  sturdy  upright- 
ness and  in  the  resolute  courage  which  refused  to  yield  to 
fate  and  even  braved  the  obloquy  of  the  world  rather  than 
submit  to  the  power  of  a  malicious  enemy. 

It  seemed  to  me  a  great  and  noble  thing  that  this  man, 
already  past  the  meridian  of  life,  should  resolutely  cut 
loose  from  a  past  which  might  well  be  accounted  enough 
for  one  man's  work,  and  start  out  under  a  new  name 
in  some  unknown  land  to  retrieve  his  fortunes.  I  did  not 
wonder  that  my  mother  had  felt  the  charm  of  such  a  spirit, 
and  forgave  her  for  loving  him.  When  my  father's 
ashes  Avere  brought  to  Ryalmont  to  be  laid  under  the  shade 
of  its  trees,  I  had  noted  casually  her  bright  beauty  as  she 
stood  one  day  by  the  new-made  grave,  and  wondered  if 
she  would  ever  wed  again.  I  remembered  thinking  that 
I  would  not  object,  if  only  she  chose  one  worthy  to  fill 
the  place  of  the  dead.  I  felt  that  the  unexpressed  condi- 
tion had  been  fulfilled  and  heartily  wished  them  joy. 


248  EIGHTY-NINE. 

All  this  seemed  so  plain  to  me  that  I  could  not  believe 
it  would  not  be  equally  apparent  to  Edith  when  she  camo 
to  look  at  it  calmly.  I  was  even  inclined  to  make  light  of 
her  dolorous  premonitions.  Alas,  I  had  yet  to  learn  the 
power  of  that  terrible  cult  by  which  her  life  had  been 
shaped.  Despite  my  four  years  of  residence  at  the  North, 
I  had  learned  little  of  the  forces  controlling  its  life.  In  a 
vague  way  I  apprehended  what  is  termed  its  enterprise,  the 
restless  energy  and  dauntless  aspiration  which  have  impelled 
it  to  such  marvelous  accomplishment;  but  I  understood 
nothing  of  the  spirit  that  underlay  them.  I  did  not  realize 
the  jealousy,  the  envious  distrust  and  ceaseless  yearning  to 
outdo  and  outshine,  that  form  the  impelling  motive  and 
controlling  sentiment  of  this  life.  AVe  are  accustomed  to 
think  of  Yankees  as  fond  of  money,  and  to  attribute  their 
enterprise  to  the  mere  greed  of  gain.  It  is  not  so.  Per- 
haps less  than  any  people  in  the  world  are  they  inclined  to 
prize  money  for  its  owii  sake.  Is^either  are  they  generally 
inclined  to  luxury.  They  do  not  value  wealth  merely  for 
what  it  will  bring  of  personal  enjoyment.  They  love  it 
for  the  power  it  confers  to  outdo  others,  and,  especially, 
because  it  enhances  the  appreciation  in  which  they  are 
held  among  their  fellows.  It  is  not  exactly  respect,  much 
less  is  it  esteem;  but  what  the  Yankee  desires  above  all 
things  is  the  envy  of  his  fellows.  To  be  looked  upon  as 
keener,  brighter,  sharper,  stronger,  richer,  luckier  than 
others — that  is  heaven  to  him. 


EIGHTY-NINE.  249 

To  him  all  enjoyment  is  comparative  ;  happiness  has 
no  positive  degree.  80  long  as  another  excels  him — or 
rather,  may  be  thought  to  excel  him — he  is  not  happy.  He 
may  have  all  he  needs  and  be  absolutely  indifferent  to  acqui- 
sition, but  so  long  as  there  is  any  one  richer,  able  to  make 
more  display,  or  even  to  outdo  him  in  ostentatious  charity, 
his  possessions,  however  great,  are  but  apples  of  Sodom. 
There  is  no  fixed  standard.  All  is  competitive  and  com- 
parative. Every  man  measures  himself  by  another  and  is 
unhappy  until  he  overtops  all  about  him. 

There  is  no  common  level,  no  unit  of  affluence  which 
brings  security,  honor  and  content.  Even  their  pride  of 
ancestry  is  comparative.  Brown  boasts  that  his  father  was 
richer  than  Jones',  though  one  may  have  been  a  butcher 
and  the  other  a  blacksmith.  It  is  to  this  curious  Moloch 
that  every  one  offers  sacrifice,  and  it  is  this  pride  in  out- 
vying others  that  is  the  master-jjassion  of  every  life. 

This  I  began  to  understand  when  we  met  at  breakfast 
and,  under  the  external  calm  which  marked  her  manner,  i 
noted  Edith's  suspicious,  stolen  glances  at  her  guests.  My 
mother's  absence  was  easily  excused,  and  it  seemed  that 
General  Fairbanks  had  said  tlie  night  before  that  he  would 
drive  over  early  to  the  Mills,  where  he  would  probably  pass 
the  day.  Nothing  worthy  of  note  occurred  during  the 
meal,  yet  when  it  was  over,  I  somehow  realized  as  I  had 
never  done  befoi-e,  that  of  all  the  company  who  offered  the 
young  hostess   their   court,  hardly   o^ie  would  deem  her 


250  EIGHTY-NINE. 

worthy  of  their  friendship  or  seek  her  society  should  she 
be  stripped  of  wealth.  It  was  not  the  luxury  of  her  sur- 
roundings, but  the  supposed  ability  to  be  luxurious  if  she 
chose,  that  gave  her  the  riglit  to  be  regarded  as  an  equal. 
I  could  but  think  how  the  very  misfortune  that  would 
rally  a  Southern  man's  friends  most  quickly  and  staunchly 
about  him,  here  scattered  them  most  completely ;  and 
began  to  realize  why  it  was  that  the  most  successful  sank 
in  an  iustant  from  the  crest  of  the  wave  into  utter  insig- 
nificance when  deprived  of  superabundant  wealth.  I  saw 
how  real  was  the  agony  Edith  endured,  though  I  could  not 
feel  its  force  or  sympathize  with  the  sense  of  degrada- 
tion she  experienced. 

After  breakfast  the  company  disposed  themselves  ac- 
cording to  their  several  inclinations.  Sagamo  Lodge  was 
a  veritable  Liberty  Hall  at  all  times,  but  especially  so  on 
Sunday.  If  *' blue-laws"  ever  prevailed  here  they  had 
been  long  forgotten.  The  summer  Sabbath  is  not  often 
devoted  to  worship  by  the  society  to  which  the  Fairbanks 
belonged.  They  are  able  to  feel  the  consolations  of  reli- 
gion only  in  an  imposing  edifice  where  eloquence  and  art 
minister  to  their  enjoyment  and  fashion  makes  its  most 
dazzling  display.  They  cannot  praise  God  with  any  sense 
of  comfort  and  propriety  where  poverty  and  the  past  sea- 
son's styles  abound.  They  pity  the  poor  but  do  not  like 
to  have  them  near,  and  see  no  reason  M'hy  saints  in  pur- 
ple and  saints  in  patches  should  kneel  at-  the  same  altar, 


EIGHTY. NINE.  251 

Few  of  the  company,  therefore,  attended  church  that  clay. 
Edith  excused  herself  upon  the  jDlea  of  attendance  upon 
my  mother,  and  the  little  company  of  guests  scattered 
about  as  comfort  and  inclination  dictated,  I  went  more 
from  force  of  our  universal  Southern  habit  tlian  impelled 
by  any  worshipful  mood.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  thought  less 
of  the  service  than  of  my  mother.  I  had  never  attended 
this  church  except  ia  her  company,  and  when  I  found 
myself  alone  in  the  pew  I  realized  for  the  first  time  that 
a  fate  more  inexorable  than  the  sparkling  sea  which 
stretched  between,  had  torn  my  life  from  its  early  moor- 
ings. I  was  alone  iri  the  world — alone  with  only  Edith 
to  serve,  to  guard,  to  love.  Would  I  even  be  permitted  to 
love  her? 

I  was  not  in  a  very  religious  frame  of  mijid.  but 
somehow  I  felt  soothed  by  the  earnest  words  of  the  un- 
assuming man  who  spoke  to  us  of  the  "hidden  way," 
which  is  lighted  up  for  us  only  step  by  step  as  we  advance. 
I  have  often  thought  of  his  discourse  since  that  time,  and 
have  been  encouraged  to  take  steps  I  might  otherwise  never 
have  attempted. 

When  I  reached  my  room  I  found  lying  on  my  table 
a  large  envelope  directed  in  Edith's  hand.  I  opened  it 
and  read  during  the  hours  of  the  hot  July  afternoon, 

THE    STORY    OF    AMBROSE    FAIRBANK'S    CRIME  ! 

It  was  addressed  to  Edith  and  read  : — 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

**  To  my  daughter : 

"  When  you  read  these  pages  you  will  have  learned  the 
need  for  tlieir  inditement. 

"  'J^lie  perustil  of  General  Owen's  letter  to  his  son,  which 
I  have  just  completed,  has  awakened  a  very  unpleasant  con- 
trast between  his  situation  and  my  own.  He  indited  a  let- 
ter of  instruction  and  advice  to  his  son  ;  I  must  write  one 
of  self-defence,  almost  of  apology,  to  my  daughter.  He 
wrote  upon  the  eve  of  his  country's  downfall — an  event  he 
did  not  expect  to  survive.  I  am  about  to  leave  my  country, 
because  I  am  charged  with  an  infraction  of  her  laws.  He 
wrote  after  four  years  of  conflict  to  establish  his  country's 
independence  ;  I  after  four  years  of  unceasing  struggle  to 
save  my  good  name  and  recoup  my  lost  fortune.  He  fore- 
saw the  fate  that  awaited  him — a  soldier's  death  upon  the 
field  of  battle — and  knew  that  whatever  the  result  of  the 
strife  in  which  he  was  engaged,  his  name  would  be  an  in- 
heritance of  honor  to  all  who  bore  it.  I  know  that  when 
the  sun  has  risen  and  set  once  more,  the  name  I  shall  sub- 
scribe to  this  paper  will  be  ineffaceably  stained.  She  who 
alone  inherits  it  from  me  will  flush  with  anger,  if  not  with 
shame,  as  she  hears  it  bandied  about  by  jeering  lips.  He 
went  forth  to  die  for  his  country  and  her  fame  ;  the  glory 

252 


EIGHTY-NINE.  253 

of  her  brief  career  shone  on  his  honored  grave.  I,  if  I  can 
balk  tlie  minions  of  the  law  for  one  more  day,  shall  go  away 
to  predetermined  self-annihilation.  I  shall  not  die,  but 
simply  fade  out  of  the  world's  life.  The  honors  I  have  won 
are  forever  blighted.  My  name  will  be  mentioned  only  with 
qualified  approval.  He  will  be  honored  when  I  am  forgot- 
ten. Yet  he  fought  for  the  cause  that  lost ;  I  for  one  that 
triumphed.  My  sword  was  as  bright,  my  service  as  signal 
as  his.  But,  alas,  I  did  not  die  I  The  battle  brought  for  me 
no  flaming  chariot  of  immortality  !  All  that  I  had  won  in 
arms  I  have  lost  in  the  fiercer  conflict  that  succeeded. 

"  I  know  my  conduct  will  not  need  any  defence  so  far  as 
you  are  concerned,  but  it  may  be  some  satisfaction  to  know 
the  causes  that  have  led  to  the  unfortunate  circumstances 
which  you  will  have  to  confront  alone.  You  remember 
Collyer,  who  used  to  be  associated  with  me  in  business.  Just 
before  the  outbreak  of  the  war  he  went  to  the  newly  dis- 
covered El  Dorado,  the  oil  regions  of  western  Pennsylvania. 
There  were  great  opportunities  ;  he  was  young,  active,  in- 
genious and  sagacious.  Better  than  any  other  man,  he  ap- 
preciated from  the  first  the  immensity  of  the  traffic  that 
must  result  from  the  discovery,  and  with  a  sagacity  alto- 
gether marvelous  he  marked  out  the  lines  of  its  develop- 
ment. I  had  the  utmost  confidence  in  his  integrity  and 
ability.  After  all  that  I  have  xindergone  I  have  only  the 
kindest  memory  of  him.  If  he  did  exceed  the  limit  of  legal 
risrht  it  was  to  save  others  rather  than  himself.     If  the  re- 


254  EIGHTY. NINE. 

suits  he  antic-ipated  were  not  achieved  it  was  because  forces 
were  developed  in  the  financial  and  political  world  which 
uo  foresight  could  have  divined.  Poor  fellow,  if  my  lot  has 
been  hard,  his  was  infinitely  worse.  His  children  will 
never  know  the  humiliation  you  will  be  comjielled  to  face, 
because  they  never  knew  since  they  have  reached  mature 
years  the  affluence  you  will  have  to  surrender.  Of  all  our 
acquaintances,  however,  I  doubt  if  there  are  any  who  will 
so  sincerely  mourn  the  misfortunes  that  have  overtaken  me 
as  the  widow  and  her  little  brood  in  the  thriving  Pennsyl- 
vania town,  who  do  not  know  that  the  modest  dwelling 
which  overlooks  the  scene  of  her  husband's  triumphs  was 
not  saved  for  her  out  of  his  estate  but  given  her  by  the  very 
man  who  suffered  most  through  his  failure. 

"  Collyer  saw  that  the  great  opportunity  really  lay  in  re- 
fining and  transporting  the  new  product.  The  world 
seemed  to  have  waited  as  long  as  it  could  for  cheap  lights. 
We  had  gas  in  the  cities,  to  be  sure,  but  that  was  both  a 
luxury  and  a  burden.  The  poor  could  not  afford  it  nor  was 
it  available  in  the  country,  where  five-sixths  of  the  popula- 
tion of  the  world  is  to  be  found.  The  supply  of  petroleum  is 
apparently  inexhaustible  and  it  practically  costs  nothing. 
It  is  as  if  the  basin  of  one  of  our  great  lakes  was  full  of  liquid 
naphtha  free  to  all,  requiring  only  to  be  refined  and  stored 
and  transported.  The  average  cost  of  getting  a  gallon  of  oil 
to  the  surface  of  the  ground,  taking  all  that  has  been  produced 
since  its  discovery,  has  not  been  a  tenth  of  a  cent  a  gallon. 


EIGHTY-NINE.  255 

So,  too,  deducting  for  storage,  piping,  etc.,  the  producer — 
that  is  the  owner  of  tlie  well,  as  distinguished  from  the  re- 
liner  and  transporter — has  not  averaged  on  his  yield  so 
much  as  a  cent  a  gallon.  Yet  the  average  price  to  the  con- 
sumer has  up  to  this  time  been  not  less  than  forty  cents  a 
gallon. 

'^Something  of  this  discrepancy  Avas  for  a  time  due  to 
the  cost  of  refining  the  crude  product.  Collyer  saw  that  this 
was  destined  to  be  a  great  industry  and  oi'ganized  a  com- 
liany  to  engage  in  it.  He  also  gave  attention  to  imjn'oved 
modes  of  storing  and  devices  for  handling  and  transport- 
ing. 

"He  asked  me  to  join  with  him  in  this  enterprise,  which 
I  did  and  was  made  president  of  the  company.  As  such  I 
had  to  sign  the  certificates  of  stock  of  the  corporation 
Being  absent  in  the  army  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  give 
the  business  my  personal  attention.  Indeed,  there  was  no 
need  that  I  should.  Collyer  was  the  secretary  and  treas- 
urer and  entirely  capable  of  managing  the  business.  I  signed 
the  certificates  in  blank  and  left  them  in  his  hands.  I  do 
not  know  how  many  of  them  there  were. 

' '  You  can  readily  guess  what  followed.  Unfortunately 
the  story  is  not  an  unusual  one.  The  tragedies  of  com- 
merce are  not  less  pitiful  than  those  of  war  and  far  more 
numerous.  Before  the  war  ended,  it  became  apparent  that 
a  new  economical,  social  and  political  force  had  been  created 
and  had  become  an  important  element  of  all  business  trans- 


256  EIGHTY- NINE. 

actions  and  every  political  movement.  The  states  of  the 
Union  had  for  a  rjuurter  of  a  century  been  so  intent  upon 
a  sudden  development  of  their  resources,  that  they  had 
created  a  monopoly  of  the  right  to  transport  goods  and  pas- 
sengers by  steam  of  a  singularly  exclusive  character.  Quite 
unconscions  of  the  importance  and  character  of  the  new- 
born agency  of  traffic,  they  had  used  their  power  of  emi- 
nent domain  with  a  recklessness  that  left  them,  when  the 
men  and  tlie  hour  came,  the  helpless  victims  of  their  own 
creatures.  Instead  of  using  the  sovereign  power  for  the 
public  advantage  and  limiting  the  charters  of  the  various 
railroads  strictly  to  the  uses  and  privileges  api^ertaining 
to  the  public  highway,  they  in  efifect  gave  the  managers  and 
controllers  of  these  roads  a  complete  monoi)oly  of  the  right 
to  transport  goods  and  passengers  by  steam. 

*'  It  is  hardly  strange  that  such  unlimited  privileges  were 
so  freely  granted,  for  no  one  was  at  that  time  aware  of  the 
immensity  of  the  power  thus  placed  in  the  hands  of  ficti- 
tious personages,  created  by  law  and  existing  only  by  the 
public  favor,  nor  did  any  one  understand  what  tremendous 
agencies  they  might  become.  No  one  knew  at  that  time 
what  we  are  beginning  now  to  understand,  that  the  business 
of  transportation  is  by  all  odds  the  greatest  of  human  in- 
dustries, being  the  one  on  which  all  others  are  dependent. 
No  one  realized  that  within  forty  years  after  the  first  loco- 
motive was  set  upon  the  rough  track  which  the  sovereign 
power  of  a  state  permitted  to  be  laid,  the  whistle  of  the 


EIGHTY. NINE.  257 

eiigme  ^'ould  be  the  trumpet  blast  of  a  power  to  whicli  all 
must  bend.  AVe  did  not  dream  that  every  business  and 
profession  would  be  dependent  for  its  success,  directly  or 
indirectly,  upon  the  will  of  those  who  should  have  the  con- 
trol of  this  terrible  agency.  No  one  imagined  that  within  a 
single  lifetime,  agriculture  itself  would  shrink  into  insignifi- 
cance beside  this  marvelous  force,  and  that  even  the  far- 
mer at  his  plough  would  be  among  the  most  abject  subjects 
of  its  jDOwer.  Xo  dreamer  was  mad  enough  to  predict  that 
every  pound  of  food  the  great  West  could  produce  and  every 
article  of  manufacture  the  gieat  East  could  devise,  would 
be  taxed  to  the  limit  of  the  subject-laborer's  endurance  to 
pay  tribute  to  this  mystic  force,  based  on  law,  supported  by 
the  invincible  power  of  aggregated  wealth,  guarded  by  cun- 
ning and  protected  by  the  weakness  of  its  foes.  No  one 
even  guessed  that  products  of  nature,  which  are  almost  as 
abundant  as  air  and  water  and  almost  as  needful  to 
civilized  existence,  would  be  guarded,  restricted  and  doled 
out  by  a  fortunate  few  to  the  unfortunate  many. 

"■  We  were  blind,  of  course,  but  who  oould  guess  that  six 
men  would  be  able  to  put  their  seals  upon  the  galleries 
that  lead  to  God's  great  storehouse  of  warmth — the  coal 
deposits  that  underlie  His  eternal  hills — and  compel  the 
poor  to  buy  at  their  own  price  ?  Who  could  have  foreseen 
that  a  product,  almost  as  cheaply  secured  as  water,  by  the 
marvelous  power  of  combined  privilege  should  be  held  at 
the  beck  of  one  man  ?  Who  would  have  imagined  that  the 


258  J^i  ^^  ii  1'  Y ■  N INE. 

lightning,  which  hardly  a  (luarter  of  a  century  ago  was 
taught  to  do  man's  bidding,  would  ever  become  the  slave 
of  one  man — the  means  by  which  a  whole  continent  is  com- 
pelled to  pay  tribute  to  his  nuitchless  hardiiiood  ? 

''  Too  late  we  are  learning  the  power  of  the  demons  we 
have  evoked  from  nothingness.  At  the  time  of  which  1 
write  we  were  taking  our  first  lessons.  Huch  men  as  Drew 
and  Vanderbilt  and  Fiskaud  Gould  had  just  begun  to  show 
what  wonderful  things  the  undefined  conditions  of  our 
modern  life  are,  for  jugglers  like  them  to  conjure  with;  how 
the  strong  by  combining  could  swallow  the  weak  and  the 
law  be  made  the  cover  rather  than  the  bane  of  robbery  ; 
how  millions  might  be  taken  for  notliiug  and  hunger  and 
cold  be  made  the  collectors  of  unlawful  tribute.  They  were 
giving  us  the  first  lessons  in  debasing  enterprise,  suppress- 
ing competition  and  making  the  general  aspiration  sub- 
servient to  their  relentless  greed.  We  ought  to  have  seen 
what  was  at  hand,  but  we  did  not,  and  I  was  as  blind  as  my 
fellows — as  blind  then  and  as  weak  now  I 

"  So  too,  was  Collyer.  He  saw — but  it  was  too  late  !  In 
his  efforts  to  save  those  associated  with  him  he  fell  irre- 
trievably. It  was  just  at  the  close  of  the  war.  I  hastened, 
as  you  know,  to  his  aid.  The  glamour  of  military  renown 
■was  about  me.  I  was  thought  also  to  be  far  more  wealthy 
than  I  really  was. 

''  Collyer's  enterprises  had  been  at  first  successful.  He 
reaped  the  usual  and  just  reward  of  foresight  and  sagacity. 


EIGHTY-NINE.  269 

Then  the  intangible  force  of  unlawfully  combined  enemies, 
armed  with  public  power  and  holding  the  avenues  of  ingress 
and  egress  to  his  works,  was  arrayed  against  him.  The 
power  of  the  State,  the  sword  of  the  law,  was  thrown  into 
the  scales.  He  struggled  bravely.  If  he  passed  the  limit 
of  legal  right,  let  us  not  blame  him.  Perhaps  my  confidence 
tempted.  It  is  certain  that  the  law,  which  commanded  his 
obedience,  lent  itself  to  his  unjust  slaughter.  When  I  came 
he  was  hopelessly  involved,  and  justice  had  laid  its  heavy 
hand  upon  him. 

"I  managed  to  save  the  company  with  which  I  was  con- 
nected from  immediate  disaster.  Collyer  bequeathed  me 
the  knowledge  he  had  gained,  the  titles  he  had  acquired,  the 
inventions  he  had  secured,  the  forecasts  he  had  made.  He 
commended  his  family  to  my  care  and  breathed  his  last  in 
the  confines  of  a  prison.  I  took  \\y)  the  fight,  confident  of 
success.  Creditors  were  lenient.  The  problem  seemed 
easy.  And  so  it  was,  but  for  the  unknown  and  unknowa- 
ble quantities  which  legal  privilege  had  interjected  into  it. 
Had  competition  been  open  and  unrestricted  I  could  hardly 
have  failed  of  success.  So,  too,  if  I  had  yielded  to  the  de- 
mands of  those  who  controlled  the  avenues  of  suj^ply  and 
demand — had  surrendered  to  a  band  of  arrogant  conspira- 
tors the  key  of  our  works  and  accepted  from  them  what 
they  chose  to  give — I  might  have  been  permitted  to  continue 
as  a  tributary  dependent. 

"No  doubt,  it  would  have  been  wiser  to  have  done  so. 


260  EIGHTY-NINE. 

It  is  always  folly  to  fight  overwhelming  odds.  A  man  is 
powerless  against  the  state  or  those  armed  with  its  authority. 
\yhat  then  shall  be  said  of  a  combination  wielding  the 
l)ower  of  three  States  and  backed  by  more  than  a  billion  of 
dollars  ?  What  merchantman  shall  resist  a  fleet  of  pirates 
protected  by  the  flag  of  a  sovereign  ?  Collyer,  in  those 
last  sad  days,  advised  against  resistance.  Poor  fellow  ! 
Experience  had  taught  him  wisdom.  The  accuracy  of  his 
forecast  was  amazing.  He  seemed  to  know  every  branch 
and  armlet  of  the  subterranean  sea  Avhich  had  been  so 
oi^portunely  tapped,  and  able  to  tell  with  unerring  instinct 
the  course  of  future  events. 

"'These  three  roads,' he  would  say,  pointing  to  the 
combined  lines,  '  command  every  avenue  of  apj)roach  to  tlie 
enchanted  ground.  Every  gallon  of  oil  must  pay  tribute 
to  them  on  its  way  to  the  refinery  and  again  upon  its  way 
to  market.  By-and-by,  other  means  of  transport  will  be 
found.  If  they  can  be  made  free  to  all  it  is  possible  that 
the  power  of  this  combination  may  be  broken.  The  danger 
is  that  they  will  control  these  also.  Three  gigantic  rail- 
roads, owning  and  administering  the  power  of  three 
States,  are  not  easily  balked  of  their  purpose.  And  the  con- 
trol of  this  Avonderful  produce  of  nature  is  a  prize  that  may 
well  tempt  men  to  any  hazard.  The  treasures  which 
Pizarro  wrested  from  the  Incas  have  dazzled  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  world  for  four  centuries.  But  the  control  of 
the  petroleum  product  of  America — the  great  empire  of 


EIGHT  r-NTXE.  361 

Naphtha — for  a  score  of  years  is  worth  a  dozen  times  the 
phinder  of  Peru.  They  will  buy  voters,  legislators,  judges, 
governors,  congressmen,  senators — until  the  whole  fabric  of 
government  is  under  the  absolute  control  of  them  and  their 
associates.  They  are  Just  beginning  to  learn  their  own 
poAver.  They  will  meet  some  reverses.  They  will  seem  to 
suffer  defeats.  Restraining  laws  will  be  enacted.  The 
courts  will  fulminate  against  them.  But  the  process  of 
consolidation  wall  continue  to  go  on.  The  greater  will 
swallow  the  less,  and  these  will  divide  with  each  other  the 
tribute  of  a  subjugated  people.  In  less  than  a  generation 
the  nation  wall  be  powerless  in  their  hands.  It  will  struggle  ; 
it  will  writhe,  but  in  the  end  it  will  yield. 

"  'Within  a  quarter  of  a  century  ten  men  will  hold  in 
their  hands  the  fate  of  every  business  in  the  land.  The 
success  of  every  farmer,  manufacturer  and  merchant,  will 
be  dependent  on  their  pleasure.  They  will  make  the  en- 
terprise of  the  whole  country  subservient  to  their  greed. 
You  do  not  believe  it,  but  you  will  see.  You  do  not  be- 
lieve it  possible  to  enslave  the  American  peojjle  ?  There 
is  no  need.  They  have  only  to  show  them  how  to  enslave 
themselves.  They  are  not  anxious  for  the  show  of  power. 
All  they  want  is  the  substance.  They  have  only  to  humor 
the  underlying  tendencies,  and  in  a  few  more  years  wealth 
will  be  the  only  test  of  merit  and  respectability  and  the 
millionaire  or  his  creature,  will  be  the  only  man  selected 
to  legislate  or  administer  the  powder  of  government. 


Z62  EIGHTY  NINE. 

"  At  the  best,  it  is  the  few  strong  against  the  many 
weak.  They  will  be  in  no  huste.  They  know  they  have 
only  to  Avait,  and  the  wealth  of  the  millions  will  surely  find 
its  way  into  the  vaults  of  the  few.  A  man  with  a  hundred 
millions  has  only  to  be  patient  and  the  weak  whom  he  holds 
in  his  power  will  in  a  few  years  make  it  a  billion.  We 
liave  yet  no  billionaire,  but  we  soon  shall  have.  A  quarter 
of  a  century  ago  we  had  scarcely  ten  millionaires.  Xow  there 
arc  hundreds.  How  have  they  grown  ?  By  feeding  upon 
others.  Every  overgrown  fortune  in  the  land  has  come  from 
swallowing  u^)  some  hundreds  or  thousands  of  lesser  ones. 
The  wliole  philosophy  of  mammoth  acquisitions  is  embraced 
in  one  phrase  :  '  The  big  fisli  live  upon  the  little  ones.'  The 
true  theory  of  success  is  not  to  fight  the  l>ig  ones  but  to 
pursue  steadily  after  the  multitude  of  little  ones.  Do  not 
try  to  tight  tJic  sliarks  but  chase  the  herring.  Make  your 
peace  with  the  men  whom  I  have  antagonized.  Help  them 
carry  out  their  plans  ;  point  their  game  for  them  ;  help 
them  to  run  it  down  and — r/ct  your  share  of  the  offal!" 


CHAPTER    XXVIL 

"  I  used  to  smile  at  these  tirades  of  Collyer's  and  tell 
him  that  disappointment  had  made  liim  cynical.  A  man 
in  jail  for  the  misuse  of  commercial  opportunity  may  be 
forgiven  for  feeling  envious.  So  I  gave  little  heed  to  his 
words.  He  did  not  claim  any  merit,  but  said  he  would 
have  done  the  same  as  those  of  whom  he  warned  me.  Per- 
haps he  would.     He  worshiped  success  as  we  all  do. 

"I  wonder  that  I  did  not  take  his  advice.  I  had  need 
of  success,  and  did  not  think  it  very  rej^rehensible  to  do 
almost  anything  the  law  permitted.  Of  course,  we  have, 
or  profess  to  have,  a  standard  of  right  and  wrong  outside 
of  the  limitations  of  the  law,  but  it  is  a  sham.  What 
fails  is  wrong ;  what  succeeds  is  right.  That  is  our 
practical  morality.  In  society,  politics  and  business  there 
is  no  other.  In  the  church — well,  there  is  a  prejudice 
there  against  certain  forms  of  money-getting ;  rather 
because  they  are  vulgar  than  because  they  are  wrong, 
however.  The  church  objects  to  the  dramseller  but  exults 
in  the  keen-witted  believer  who  builds  himself  up  on  the 
ruin  of  others.  He  who  has  wealth,  even  though  acquired 
by  the  most  questionable  means,  is  far  more  welcome  there 
than  he  without  pelf.  This  is  not  the  fault  of  Christianity 
but  of  our  education,  training,  development.  We  have 
S6S 


264  EIG  H  T  Y-  NINE. 

carried  the  slangy  doctrine  of  '  Every  man  for  himself ' 
so  far  that  its  accustomed  conclusion,  ''  the  devil  for  the 
whole/'  has  become  an  accepted  corollary.  As  a  people. 
we  delight  in  doing  charity,  l)ut  are  ashamed  to  do  justice. 
We  would  rather  be  swallowed  by  the  strong  than  admit 
our  inability  to  cope  with  them  single-handed. 

"  I  neglected  Collyer's  advice  but  did  not  forget  his  pre- 
dictions. Alas,  1  have  lived  to  see  too  many  of  them  ful- 
filled, lie  confessed  that  he  had  abused  my  confidence. 
Of  the  stock  of  the  company  more  than  double  the  num- 
ber of  lawful  shares  were  hypothecated  for  our  indebted- 
ness. For  this  I  was  legally  responsible  and  addressed 
myself  at  once  to  the  task  of  their  redemption.  It  was 
not  difficult,  with  the  prestige  attaching  then  to  my  name, 
by  paying  a  part  of  them,  to  obtain  extensions.  The  last 
of  these  expires  upon  your  birthday.  All  the  rest  of  the 
stock  has  been  taken  up  and  cancelled.  The  amount  held 
for  this  is  nearly  equal  to  the  whole  number  of  lawful 
shares.  The  holders  suspect  an  over-issue  and  have  se- 
cured my  indictment  for  participation  in  it.  With  this 
they  hope  to  compel  compliance  with  their  wishes.  They 
will  not  succeed.  If  the  scheme  on  which  I  rely  should 
fail,  there  is  one  other  way  out  of  the  difficult}-.  What- 
ever happens,  you  will  be  spared  the  shame  of  seeing  your 
father  in  the  hands  of  the  law, 

"  Yet  the  terms  they  offered  were  not  so  bad.  If  they 
had  not  included  you  I  think  I  should  have  accepted  them, 


EIGHTY. NINE.  265 

much  as  I  hate  the  Rock  Oil  Trust  and  hot  as  the  fight  has 
been  between  us.  They  have  onh^  done  what  the 
times  and  public  sentiment  encouraged  them  to  do.  They 
may  have  takeii  undue  advantage  of  the  law's  defects  and 
paid  little  heed  to  its  warnings,  knowing  that  they  had  its 
administrators  securely  in  hand.  The  head  of  the  con- 
cern, Stoninghani,  is  a  very  liberal,  pious  man.  lie  gives 
away  a  great  deal  of  money  for  charity  and  the  church. 
They  tell  me  he  is  very  strict  and  fervent  in  his  family  devo- 
tions, and  pretty  much  supports  a  theological  seminary.  I 
do  not  understand  it,  but  I  presume  the  man  sees  little 
if  any  wrong  in  what  he  does  through  this  corporate 
agency.  He  is  no  doubt  sincere  in  his  religious  convic- 
tions. That  is  the  worst  of  it,  that  we  have  come  to  think 
there  is  no  wrong  in  anything  we  do  if  it  is  only  beyond 
the  reach  of  the  law. 

"  My  fight  has  been  a  hard  one.  Despite  the  odds  of 
the  mighty  combination  against  me,  I  succeeded  for  a 
time.  It  only  shows  the  immense  profits  of  the  business, 
that  I  did  so.  Collyer's  experience  and  advice  helped  me. 
As  I  said,  he  seemed  to  have  foreseen  all  that  has  come  to 
pass.  His  wise  forecast  enabled  me  to  take  advantage  of 
the  discovery  of  new  oil  fields.  It  was  a  wonderful  thing.  • 
"We  came  near  overthrowing  the  power  of  the  great  monop- 
oly, even  with  the  great  railroads  at  its  back.  Many  of  the 
associated  producers  and  refiners  thought  we  had  done  so, 
and  they  began  to  prey  on  each  other.     We  soon  saw  our 


•i(^e  EIGHT Y-  NIN E . 

mistake.  It  was  a  success  that  helped  me  out  of  our  diffi- 
culties, however.  I  paid  off  all  my  debts  except  a  note 
that  falls  due  on  your  birthday.  That  I  could  not  find. 
After  a  time  I  became  aware  that  the  Rock  Oil  Trust  held 
it.  I  sent  an  agent  to  offer  principal  and  interest,  but  they 
would  not  accept  payment. 

''Then  came  the  new  method  of  transporting — by  pipe- 
lines. Collyer  had  foreseen  it  and  bought  some,  perhaps 
all,  of  tlie  patents  that  cover  the  simple  process  by  which 
it  is  forced  fi-om  station  to  station,  half  across  a  continent. 
It  should  stretch  from  sea  to  sea  an  unrestricted  common 
carrier.  We  procured  a  charter  ;  a  short  experimental  line 
was  laid,  and  we  thought  our  great  oppressor  was  van- 
quished. It  was  a  foolish  exultation.  Hardly  Avas  the 
efficiency  of  the  new  system  proved  when  we  found  it  con- 
trolled by  our  old  enemy.  What  else  could  have  been  ex- 
pected ?  With  three  of  the  greatest  railroad  systems  of 
the  world  combined  against  us,  wielding  the  power  of  the 
three  greatest  States  in  the  Union,  why  should  they  not 
prevail  ?  Men  are  but  human,  Avhether  they  be  sharehold- 
ers, legislators  or  Judges,  and  the  law  is  very  weak  when 
it  is  confronted  by  a  combination  that  controls  a  billion 
dollars  and  is  able  to  make  or  mar  the  fortunes  of  three 
out  of  every  five  business  men  in  the  whole  region  lying 
along  its  lines.  What  is  the  use  of  talking  of  freedom  and 
right  and  justice  in  a  country  where  such  power  is  con- 
trolled by  one  man,  who  is  all  the  more  dangerous  because 


EIGHT  Y-  NINE.  267 

he  sincerely  believes  he  has  an  inalienable  right  to  do  what- 
ever he  is  able  to  do — that  capacity  to  accomplish  is  the 
real  limit  of  moral  right  ? 

"  Up  to  this  time  the  conflict  had  been  impersonal 
That  was  a  little  more  than  a  year  ago.  About  that  time 
an  armistice  was  tacitly  arranged  and  overtures  for  peace 
were  made,  at  first  vague  and  undefined,  through  trusted 
subordinates.  Then  the  embargo  was  raised,  and  I  was 
permitted  for  a  time  to  see  what  would  be  the  profits  of  my 
business  if  the  hostility  of  the  Rock  Oil  Trust  was  removed. 
Even  I  was  surprised.  I  had  never  realized  how  vast  its 
network  of  agencies  and  how  great  its  army  of  dependents. 
I  was  amazed  to  learn  that  four-fifths  of  the  retailers  of 
the  refined  product  throughout  the  country  were  subject 
to  its  control. 

"  Then  I  had  an  interview  with  Stoningham.  He  pro- 
posed an  alliance — that  they  should  be  allowed  to  use 
openly — as  I  am  assured  tliey  have  done  secretly — the  pro- 
cess of  continuous  distillation  Avhich  poor  Collyer  invented. 
By  this  the  cost  is  reduced  many  fold.  This  alone  had 
enabled  me  to  continue  the  fight  while  scores  of  enterpris- 
ing independent  refiners  were  crushed  by  the  power  of  the 
conspiracy.  Stoningham  had  learned,  too,  the  accuracy  of 
Colly er's  predictions,  and  proposed  that  the  options  he  had 
secured  in  regions  not  apparently  productive  of  oil  should 
be  held  for  the  joint  benefit,  that  our  works  and  facilitiea 
should  be  appraised  and  I  be  allowed  a  proportionate  share 


268  EIG  H  T  Y- N I y  E . 

of  the  entire  business  with  equal  advantages  in  storing  and 
transporting  with  the  great  Trust  and  its  other  dependen- 
cies. You  will  think  them  liberal  terms  for  a  defeated  foe, 
and  I  am  bound  to  admit  that  they  were — so  liberal  that  I 
was  surprised  until  1  found  what  they  covered,  or  rather 
what  was  coupled  with  them. 

'^  I  made  no  response  to  these  overtures,  half-suspecting 
something  beneath  them.  Even  when  Stoningham  went 
off  into  encomiums  of  his  lieutenant,  Martling,  I  did  not  at 
first  perceive  his  purpose.  It  was  only  when  your  name 
Avas  mentioned  that  I  understood  it  all.  It  was  intimated 
that  the  note  and  the  collateral  might  be  made  a  wediling 
present,  lie  deftly  hinted  that  an  over-issue  of  stock  was 
a  crime  punishable  with  imprisonment.  Then  I  saw  his 
drift.  The  Rock  Oil  Trust  had  me  in  its  power.  They 
would  crush  my  business,  ruin  my  good  name  and  imprison 
my  body.  All  this  I  realized  iu  an  instant.  If  I  would 
sell  you  to  Mr.  Martling  and  give  up  to  them  the  secrets 
Collyer  had  bequeathed  me  for  my  own  benefit  and  the 
comfort  of  his  loved  ones,  they  would  make  me  their  ally. 
That  was  the  ultimatum. 

"  I  am  surprised  that  I  did  not  once  think  of  accepting 
these  terms.  I  was  only  afraid  the  circumstances  would 
come  to  your  knowledge  and  that  you  would  insist  upon 
sacrificiug  yourself  for  me.  Somehow  the  idea  of  disgrace 
had  ceased  to  be  terrible.  I  had  faced  it  as  a  possibility  so 
long,  that  now  it  came  in  the  form  of  a  covert  threat  I 


EIGHTY -NINE.  369 

scarcely  heeded  it.  I  only  wished  to  save  you,  I  knew 
your  love  but  dreaded  your  jiride.  Once  1  would  have 
died  rather  than  leave  you  a  dislionored  name.  Now  I 
began  to  wonder  whether  it  was  dislionored — whether  an 
upright  life  and  honest  purpose  were  really  at  the  mercy  of 
a  vengeful  enemy  because  of  one  unconscious  act  for  Avhich 
no  one  had  suffered. 

*'  So  I  merely  sought  to  gain  time.  I  said  that  I  could 
not  interfere  with  your  preferences.  A  truce  was  arranged 
between  us.  I  felt  humiliated  by  the  thought  of  having 
allowed  your  name  even  to  be  mentioned  in  the  matter,  but 
I  was  helpless  before  this  mysterious  enemy  whose  power  I 
had  so  fully  tested. 

"  For  some  months  all  went  well.  I  knew  it  could  not 
last,  however,  and  was  all  the  time  j^lanning  to  foil  our 
enemies.  I  was  conscious  of  being  constantly  under  espio- 
nage. I  knew  that  my  clerks  and  employees  were  being 
tampered  with.  The  Rock  Oil  octopus  did  not  mean  to 
let  its  prey  escape.  When  at  length  I  attended  to  nego- 
tiate means  to  pay  the  debt,  intending  to  assent  to  your 
marriage  immediately  upon  Mr.  Owen's  graduation,  and 
defy  them  to  do  their  worst  with  the  criminal  charge, 
— then  it  was  that  I  first  learned  tbe  real  character  of  the 
enemy  with  whom  I  had  to  deal.  I  was  warned  that  your 
intimacy  with  Ryal  must  cease,  tbat  his  mother  must  leave 
my  house  and  that  my  efforts  to  negotiate  a  loan  would  be 
frustrated.     As  I  paid  no  heed  to  these  threats  I  soon  be- 


270  EIGHTY- NINE. 

gan  to  find  my  business  suffering  in  consequence.  My 
plans  Avere  thwarted  ;  supplies  were  cut  olf  so  that  it  be- 
came impossible  to  fill  my  contracts.  My  shipments  were 
delayed.  The  oil  that  passed  through  the  pipes  was  adul- 
terated or  changed  in  transit.  Leakage  and  waste  became 
enormous.  Suits  were  instigated  against  me.  My  works 
bcame  suddenly  unreliable  and  the  product  mysteriously 
diminished.  Through  an  old  army  friend  I  negotiated  a 
conditional  sale  of  your  estate  to  be  consummated  on  your 
birthday,  if  you  desired.  Tlirough  him,  too,  I  conveyed 
to  you,  under  certain  conditions,  the  valuable  options  and 
inventions  received  from  Collyer.  Then  I  began  to  feel 
secure.  When  the  threats  were  repeated — vague  hints 
coming  through  lips  which  were  ignorant  of  the  mean- 
ing of   the  words  they  uttered — I  answei'ed  defiantly. 

"Just  at  this  time  my  works  were  burned.  The  loss  was 
not  so  very  great,  only  it  happened  to  take  about  all  that 
I  had  remaining.  The  fact  of  absolute  financial  ruin  burst 
upon  me.  I  saw  with  an  indescribable  terror  the  dilemma 
in  which  you  were  placed.  I  saw,  too,  my  own  peril. 
Should  I  refuse  to  sacrifice  you,  the  fate  poor  Collyer  had 
suffered  seemed  to  recruit  me.  I  knew  that  without 
money  I  should  be  without  friends  and,  iu  a  conflict  with 
such  an  enemy,  without  hope.  I  knew  the  fire  was  incen- 
diary and  was  satisfied  that  it  was  instigated  by  some  one 
closely  connhcted  with  the  great  Monopoly  ;  but  I  could 
prove  nothing.      My  employees  were  un trust Avorthy.      I 


EIGHTY-SIXE.  ^71 

managed  to  get  a  hold  upon  one  and  he  confessed  enough 
to  convict  himself  and  set  me  on  the  track  of  others. 
Soon  lie  canit'  to  me  in  terror.  His  life  had  been  threat- 
ened. The  next  night  he  was  fired  ujjon.  A  few  days 
after  he  had  another  escape.  He  seemed  surrounded  with 
enemies.  'J^hen  he  was  charged  with  crime  and  thrown  into 
prison.  I  bailed  him  out  and  procured  him  employment 
in  a  distant  city.  Within  a  week  the  house  in  which  he 
lived  was  burned.     His  life  seemed  constantly  in  peril. 

"  Then  the  threats  changed  to  promises.  Golden  lures 
were  thickly  spread  along  his  path.  He  was  offered 
fabulous  opportunities  by  unknown  parties.  Strangers 
sought  him  out  and  offered  him  large  sums  to  do  the  most 
simple  tasks.  All  at  once  he  was  gone.  I  knew  he  had 
been  spirited  away.  Whether  he  is  alive  or  dead  I  do  not 
know. 

"  Then  I  felt  that  I  must,  at  all  events,  free  myself  from 
the  toils  surrounding  me  and  leave  you  at  liberty  to  secure 
happiness  with  as  little  opprobrium  on  my  account  as  pos- 
sible. To  me  there  seems  but  one  way  out  of  the  diffi- 
culty. If  we  succeed  in  eluding  the  vigilance  of  our  enemy, 
they  must  either  give  up  the  prosecution  they  have  set  on 
foot  or  do  without  tiieir  money.  If  yon  offer  to  pay 
my  debt,  of  course  you  will  demand  the  surrender  of  the 
security  they  hold,  and  they  cannot  take  advantage  of  your 
generosity  without  losing  their  revenge.  In  other  words, 
if  the  Rock  Oil  people  accept  your  money  they  will  have  to 


^72  EIGHTY-NINE. 

give  up  the  collateral,  and  the  criminal  prosecution  must 
then  fail.  If  they  do  not  accept  the  money  offered,  it  may 
be  convenient,  some  time,  for  developing  tlie  great  oil  fields 
in  which  Collyer  sunk  his  borrowed  capital. 

"  The  fact  that  Kyal's  mother  goes  with  me  will  release 
you  from  any  sense  of  public  odium,  should  you  fail  to  re- 
deem my  note.  It  will  naturally  be  inferred  that  I  have 
yielded  to  her  fascinations  and  absconded  with  money  im- 
properly obtained.  It  will  come  out  after  a  time  that  we  were 
privately  married  some  weeks  ago,  but  the  fact  will  be  very 
little  noticed,  and  the  great  mass  of  the  people  will  always 
look  u2ion  it  as  an  elopement  as  well  as  a  defalcation. 

*'And  now,  my  dear  daughter,  you  will  have  to  act  for 
yourself.  I  do  not  doubt  as  to  what  you  will  do.  As  I 
have  thought  only  of  you,  I  know  you  will  be  inclined  to 
think  only  of  me.  To  a  certain  extent,  I  shall  not  object 
to  this.  I  shall  be  glad  to  know  tliat  you  have  tendered 
payment  for  the  last  dollar  I  owe,  tliat  my  honor  has  been 
protected  though  my  reputation  may  be  scotched.  Farther 
than  that  I  forbid  you  to  think  of  going.  I  have  sacrificed 
my  pride  to  save  your  love.  Do  not  think  of  sacrificing 
your  love  in  a  vain  attempt  to  save  my  good  name.  Be 
content  that  your  father  has  acted  neither  dishonorably  nor 
cowardly,  though  he  may  seem  to  have  done  both  ;  that  he 
has  contracted  an  honorable  alliance  with  a  noble  woman, 
whose  courage  and  devotion  have  not  only  won  his  love 


EIGHTY-NINE.  2t3 

but  stimulated  his  determination  to  retrieve  his  misfor- 
tunes. 

"I  am,  it  is  true,  compelled  to  leave  my  native  land — 
not  self -exiled,  but  driven  out  by  the  fear  of  obloquy.  That 
is  the  real  fact.  If  one  might  really  be  poor  and  yet  re- 
spectable within  her  borders,  no  enemy  should  boast  of 
having  seen  my  back.  This  is  the  hardest  wrench  of  all. 
You  know  something  of  my  adoration  for  our  country — a 
worship  not  so  much  attaching  to  the  realm  or  the  nation- 
ality of  the  Great  Eepublic  as  for  that  Northern  life,  the 
spirit  of  enterprise,  individuality  and  equal  opportunity  of 
Avhich  we  have  so  long  boasted  as  the  very  essence  of  Ameri- 
canism. I  can  not  tell  you  how  bitterly  I  suffer  as  I  con. 
template  the  fact  that  the  ills  of  the  joresent  are  a  legitimate 
result  of  the  folly  of  the  past.  "We  have  carried  our  rage 
for  liberty  so  far  that  it  has  become  the  apology  and  excuse 
for  wrong  ;  until  the  right  to  achieve  has  become  insepara- 
ble in  our  minds  from  the  right  to  destroy.  Pride  in  indi- 
vidual success,  in  financial  achievement,  has  grown  to  such 
a  pitch  that  all  else  is  counted  dross.  Excellence,  virtue 
and  honor  are  all  measured  by  the  dollar.  Intellect  is 
nothing  unless  gilded ;  virtue  is  without  esteem  unless 
securely  placed  on  a  gold  basis.  I  do  not  blame  others  for 
this.  All  my  life  I  have  been,  more  or  less,  the  slave  of 
this  impulse.  At  first  it  was  half  unconscious  and  had  not 
then  the  opportunity  for  development  that  these  later  days 
have  brought.     I  doubt  if  anything  but  misfortune  would 


'2U  EIGHTY-NINE. 

have  taught  me  its  hideous  character.  Even  Stoningham, 
with  all  the  woeful  acts  that  lie  at  his  door,  with  all  the 
poverty  and  shame  he  has  heaped  on  others,  and  the 
wrongs  he  has  inspired,  is  not  only  a  natural  result  of  our 
past,  but  really  a  product  of  its  best  and  sweetest  life.  The 
purest  blood  of  New  England  Hows  in  his  veins.  He  was 
reared  amid  the  perfume  of  Christian  charity  and  rectitude. 
He  is  even  now  a  zealot  who  would  suffer  martyrdgm  for 
his  faith.  He  loves  his  country,  too,  and  upon  occasion 
would  no  doubt  do  as  much,  perhaps  a  great  deal  more, 
than  I  have  over  done  for  its  defence.  He  considers  it  no 
harm — perhaps  oven  not  a  matter  of  wrong — to  thwart  its 
laws,  corrupt  its  officials  or  oppress  its  people.  Perhaps  I 
would  have  done  the  same  in  his  place.  I  do  not  blame 
— I  hardly  dare  to  blame — I  only  mourn  the  shattering  of 
my  idol. 

"  1  go  away,  but  I  hope  to  return.  Some  speculative 
investments  in  another  land,  made  in  the  days  of  my  pros- 
perity, give  a  prospect  of  retrieving  my  fortunes.  K  that 
hope  is  justified,  I  trust  yet  to  do  something  to  awaken  my 
countrymen  from  the  lethargy  which  has  overtaken  their 
better  natures,  and  release  them  from  the  fetters  our  own 
foolish  pride  has  forged.  The  Rock  Oil  people  will  no 
doubt  believe  themselves  to  have  ruined  another  presump- 
tuous competitor  and  congratulate  themselves  that  another 
obstacle  to  a  complete  monopoly  of  one  of  nature's  most 
abundant    and  beneficent  products  is  crushed.      I  hope 


EIGHTY-NINE.  275 

to  disappoint  their  expectations,  not  alone  to  avenge  my 
own  wrongs — though  I  would  by  no  means  deny  the  force 
of  such  motive — but  in  the  overthrow  of  this  mighty  usur- 
pation, to  teach  the  peril  of  unguarded  privilege.  I  do 
not  expect  to  cure  the  evils  of  our  civilization.  I  am 
neither  a  statesman  nor  a  reformer,  but  as  a  great  catas- 
trophe very  often  points  the  way  to  the  adoption  of  better 
methods,  I  hope  to  do  something  to  make  this  giant  wrong 
a  notable  example  and  a  warning  that  will  not  soon  be  for- 
gotten. For  what  I  am  about  to  do  let  this  letter  be  to 
you  my  apology.  Time  alone  can  bring  to  the  world  its 
justification.  If  assured  of  your  happines,  mine  will  be 
complete.  Without  that  nothing  can  make  tolerable  the 
life  I  saved  but  for  your  sake. 

Your  father, 

Ambrose  Fairbanks." 


This,  then,  was  the  crime  that  had  driven  a  brave  and 
worthy  man  into  exile. 

If  he  had  violated  any  law,  it  had  been  without  in- 
tent, and  no  one  had  suffered  so  much  as  a  farthing's  worth 
by  his  act.  He  did  not  complain.  The  instinct  of  obedi- 
ence to  the  law  was  so  strong  with  him  that  even  at  the 
last  extremity  he  did  not  murmur.  Even  in  that  supreme 
moment  he  thought  of  his  country  rather  than  himself. 


276  EIGHTY. NINE. 

and  looked  forward  with  curious  apprehension  to  a  future 
when  the  creatures  of  the  law  should  control  every  function 
of  government.  The  very  prosecutor,  whose  hand  was 
armed  with  legal  terrors  for  his  chastisement,  was  himself 
a  notable  instance  of  legal  privilege  supported  and  main- 
tained in  the  pursuit  of  unrighteous  ends. 

Alas  I  even  his  imagination,  fired  by  the  sting  of  his 
own  agony,  could  not  guess  the  height  of  insolence  to 
which  power,  builded  on  a  legal  fiction,  but  worshiped  as 
the  holiest  of  holy  things  by  a  people  with  whom  the  right 
to  gather  and  possess  is  accounted  the  supremest  privilege 
of  liberty,  within  a  decade  would  exhibit.  He  did  not 
dream  that  it  would  defy  the  will  of  its  creator,  mock  ai 
the  sovereign  power  of  a  state,  refuse  to  submit  to  the 
scrutiny  of  the  national  goA'ernment,  league  itself  with  a 
hundred  like  organizations  to  control  other  and  yet  more 
wonderful  products  of  nature,  and  form  an  unsanctified 
alliance  by  which  hundreds  of  millions  of  dollars  were 
placed  at  the  disposal  of  a  single  man. 


CHAPTER  XXVm. 

I  saw  but  little  of  Edith  during  the  day.  Towards 
evening  I  heard  a  knock  upon  the  door  leading  into  my 
mother  s  room,  and,  when  I  opened  it,  she  entered.  To  the 
pallid  dejection  of  the  morning  was  added  now  a  look  of 
positive  terror. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  I  asked  in  alarm. 

She  went  to  the  window  and  pointed  towards  the  river. 

*'The  house  is  watched,"  she  said,  as  if  the  words  were 
the  very  knell  of  hope.  I  looked  towards  the  landing. 
The  white-hatted  man  was  there.  A  little  way  up  the 
path  at  the  side  of  the  house  another  man  was  strolling 
back  and  forth. 

"  Much  good  it  will  do  them,"  I  said,  with  some  satis- 
faction in  my  tone. 

"  Oh,  Ryal,  how  can  you  !  What  if  the  people  in  the 
house  should  find  it  out  !" 

"  I  think  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  tell  them  the 
whole  story." 

"li  would  kill  me!" 

Looking  at  her  strained  face  and  drooping  figure  I 
began  to  fear  it  might. 

"  But  they  must  know  it  sometime." 

"I  shall  not  see  them  afterwards  "—with  a  shrug. 
277 


278  EIGHTY-NINE. 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  think  me  very  weak  and  so  I  am.  You 
must  help  me.  If  we  can  only  get  through  this  matter  and 
get  away  before  it  is  in  everybody's  mouth  !  Do  you  sup- 
pose the  morning  papers  will  have  it  ?" 

"  To-morrow  ?  I  should  judge  not.  If  the  Rock  Oil 
people  think  your  father  is  here,  they  will  make  no  move 
until  to-morrow.  If  they  suspect  his  absence  they  will  wait 
to  see  you  before  beginning  operations." 

"  Do  you  think  Mr.  Martling  will — ?"  She  paused  as 
if  unwilling  to  proceed . 

''  Do  I  think  he  will  ask  you  for  your  hand  ?  There 
is  no  doubt  of  it." 

"  Could  he  stop  this  thing — hush  it  up — get  those  peo- 
ple away,  I  mean  ?"  with  a  disgusted  gesture  towards  the  de- 
tectives. 

"No  doubt — if  his  terms  were  complied  with.'* 

She  turned  towards  the  window  so  that  I  could  not 
see  her  face. 

"  And  those  terms  ?" 

"  You  know  them  as  well  as  1." 

"  You  think  he  would  accept  no  other  ?" 

"  See  here,  Edith,"  I  said,  almost  angrily,  "  I  know 
what  is  in  your  mind.  You  are  wondering  whether  the 
prosecution  against  your  father  would  be  withdrawn  and 
the  matter  hushed  up,  if  you  should  promise  to  become 
Martling's  wife.  You  could  never  do  such  a  thing  if  you 
tried." 


EIGHTY-NINE.  279 

"  I — might— promise." 

"  Then  you  would  have  to  fulfill." 

"  I  might  not — be — alive." 

''Edith  r 

"  I  shall  not  live — very  long." 

"  But,  Edith,  you  can  secure  what  you  desire  much 
more  easily  than  by  the  means  you  intimate." 

"  How  ?"  She  turned  towards  me  with  a  look  of  eager 
inquiry. 

"  I  think  your  father  has  magnified  the  importance  of 
Mr.  Martling's  wish.  What  the  man  at  the  head  of  the 
great  oil  monopoly  wants  is  not  so  much  an  alliance  be- 
tween you  and  Martling  as  the  property  and  franchises  your 
father  holds.  If  you  choose  to  surrender  these — which  I 
understand  will  be  assigned  to  you — I  have  no  doubt  they 
will  seiTe  both  as  a  ransom  for  yourself  and  a  release  for 
your  father.  If  you  pay  the  debt  and  assign  to  them  what 
they  think  your  father  controls,  the  prosecution  will  be 
dropped  and  you  will  be  allowed  to  do  what  you  choose." 

*'  And  Mr.  Martling  ?" 

**  Mr.  Martling  will  do  as  Mr.  Stoningham  bids." 

"  And  you — you  advise  this  course  ?" 

*'  Not  at  all.  I  would  pay  the  debt,  demand  the  se- 
curities and  let  them  do  their  worst." 

''  But  then—?" 

*'  There  is  no  need  to  go  over  the  ground  again,"  I  in- 
terrupted.    "That  is  all  there  is  of  it." 


280  EIGHTY- NINE. 

''And  they  want  to  compel  my  father  to  give  up  these 
things — this  property  ?' 

''  Of  course.  That  is  why  they  are  pressing  the  prose- 
cution." 

"  And  they  think  I  will  surrender  them  ?" 

'•  They  probably  do  not  know  you  are  to  have  them." 

'*  But  you — what  do  you  think  ?" 

''  Oil,.  I  think  it  would  be  a  great  deal  better  to  give 
them  up  than  to  marry  a  man  you  do  not  love,"  I  re- 
sponded laughingly. 

She  did  not  answer.  After  a  time  she  said  in  a  very 
different  tone : 

*'  Can  I  make  a  will,  Ryal  ?" 

I  blushed.  It  was  the  first  time  my  opinion  on  a  legal 
subject  had  been  asked  in  earnest.  I  tried  to  think  what 
her  rights — the  rights  of  an  infant /ewe  sole —  in  respect  to 
testamentary  bequests  were,  but  could  not.  Determined 
not  to  err  in  advising  my  first  client,  I  replied  cautiously  : 

"  To-morrow  you  can." 

"  Will  you  prepare  a  will  for  me  as  I  may  direct  ?" 

She  did  not  know  how  flattered  I  was  by  this  display 
of  confidence  in  my  legal  ability. 

*'  Certainly;  when  shall  I  do  it  ?" 

'•'  Now — if  you  are  willing,  that  is." 

"All  right."  I  took  out  my  pencil  and  sat  down  at 
the  table  ready  to  take  notes. 

^'  Well  r 


EIGHTY -NINE.  281 

"  All   that  I  have — all   my  estate,  yon   call  it,  don't 


you 


?" 


"  Yes — real  and  personal  ?'' 

"  I  suppose  so — every  tiling." 

"  To  whom  ?" 

"  Can  I  leave  it  to  any  one  I  choose — my  father,  for  in- 
stance ?" 

"Anybody." 

**'  And  if  I  should  wish  any  particular  thing  to  be  done 
with  it — or  a  part  of  it  ?" 

*' You  can  either  direct  or  request  it  to  be  done." 

"  Yes  ?" 

*'  The  one  compels,  the  other  leaves  discretionary  the 
application  of  the  bequest." 

''Thanks.     Let  it  be  a  request." 

"  To  apply  as  you  shall  otherwise  direct  ?" 

"  Yes.     You  may  leave  the  name  blank." 

''Very  well  ;  you  can  write  in  the  descrij)tion." 

"  The  description  ?"  She  turned  towards  me,  but  I  was 
so  intent  on  serving  my  first  client  tliat  I  did  not  look  up. 

"Yes;  the  full  name  and  residence,  you  know;  so  as  to 
secure  certainty,  as  to  the  legatee." 

"  Oh.     That  I  can  do  any  time  to-morrow." 

"  Any  time  after  twelve  to-night." 

"It  must  be  witnessed,  I  suppose — or  something  ?" 

"  By  three  persons  whom  you  must  inform  that  it  is 


382  EIGHTY-NINE. 

your  will.  You  must  sign  it  in  their  presence  and  they  in 
yours." 

"  You  will  write  out  the  directions,  please?" 

"  All  right.     Is  there  anything  more  ?" 

"  Not  that  I  remember.  I  may  be  very  weak,  but  I 
will  not  surrender  what  my  father  is  so  anxious  to  hold." 

I  looked  up  in  surprise.  She  was  standing  at  the  end 
of  the  table  at  which  I  wrote,  looking  down  at  me  with  an 
anxious,  troubled  expression.  Could  it  be  that  she  was  so 
mercenary  that  she  could  coolly  think  of  sacrificing  herself 
to  secure  immunity  from  scandalous  aspersion,  yet  would 
defy  public  opinion  for  the  sake  of  money  ?  I  could  not 
understand  her.  For  a  moment  I  think  my  love  faltered. 
Yet  it  was  only  the  instinct  of  her  people.  The  shame  of 
failure  completely  overwhelmed  her  ;  the  thought  of  de- 
fending her  father's  property  acted  as  a  tonic  to  her  nerves. 
She  would  rather  die  than  be  talked  about,  but  rather  be 
talked  about  than  yield  to  an  unjust  demand.  She  noted 
my  hesitation. 

''Eyal,"  she  said,  pleadingly,  "you  will  not  be  angry 
with  me  ?" 

I  took  her  hand  and  raised  it  to  my  lips. 

"  You  have  sworn  to  be  my  knight,  you  know,"  she 
added,  with  a  little  nervous  laugh. 

"  And  I  will  keep  my  oath." 

"  Then  go  away  in  the  morning — please.'' 

"  Where  ?"— moodily. 


BTGETT-NINE.  283 

"Why  not  ride  into  town?" 

"  For  what  ?" 

''I  thought  you  might  have — some — business — there." 

What  was  it  in  her  tone  that  made  me  look  up,  and 
what  was  the  new  expression  I  saw  in  her  face  ?  A  soft 
color  had  stolen  over  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  had  a  tender, 
humid  glow.  What  wild  fancy  possessed  my  brain  ?  I 
could  hardly  command  my  voice  to  say, 

*'  And  I  may  return — when  V 

"  You  could  come  by  noon,  I  suppose  ?" 

**  Long  before," — with  eager  emiDhasis. 

"  No — that  will  be  soon  enough— soon  enough — but 
Ryal " — she  bent  quickly  over  the  corner  of  the  table  and 
whispered  in  my  ear — "  I  shall  want  to  go  away  from  here 
at  once." 

There  was  a  quick  rustle  and  the  door  into  my  mother's 
room  was  shut  and  the  bolt  shot  quickly  into  place  on  tlie 
other  side.  I  sat  dazed,  wouderiug  Avhether  I  had  had  a 
dream  or  whether  what  had  passed  were  simple  fact. 

That  night  I  prepared  the  will  and  made  my  plans  for 
the  future,  but  slept  very  little.  Before  the  guests  were 
astir  in  the  morning  I  was  mounted  and  away.  I  did  not 
see  Edith,  but  as  I  galloped  off  I  heard  a  shutter  carefully 
turned  and  felt  that  she  was  watching  my  departure.  The 
man  with  the  white  hat  was  strolling  along  the  river  bank. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

It  was  over. 

The  guests  were  gone — all  but  oue  or  two  of  the  hum- 
bler sort,  who  would  not  go  while  there  was  aught  that 
they  could  do  to  cheer  or  serve.  A  pall  seemed  to  have 
settled  over  the  house.  People  were  gathered  near  gaz- 
ing at  it  curiously.  I  saw  them  point  towards  me  and 
exchange  comments  as  I  rode  up.  The  officials,  who  had 
watched  the  premises  so  closely  during  the  Sabbath,  had 
disappeared.  Men  with  pencils  in  their  hands  were  loi- 
tering about  the  gate,  standing  near  the  door — actually 
peeping  into  the  windows.  The  thirst  for  scandal,  which 
is  a  consuming  lire  in  the  breasts  of  the  Northern  people, 
had  fastened  upon  Sagamo  Lodge  and  its  occupants  as  vic- 
tims. The  law  had  loosed  its  hold  and  the  press  had  taken 
its  place. 

What  did  the  law  want  ?  Who  were  the  victims  it 
sought,  and  for  what  offense  ?  What  heart  might  be  torn  ? 
What  reputation  blasted  ?  What  hope  blighted  ?  These 
were  the  questions  the  harpies  of  the  press  asked  them- 
selves as  they  watched  and  pried  and  guessed  and  quizzed, 
as  though  in  the  performance  of  a  solemn  duty, — the 
exercise  of  an  inalienable  right. 

The  public  conscience  among  those  people  has  become 
284 


EIGHTY.  NINE.  285 

SO  debauched  by  daily  doses  of  prurient  and  horrible  detail 
that  private  right  and  individual  character  are  without 
safeguard  or  consideration  in  that  region.  Woman's  vir- 
tue and  man's  honor  are  no  longer  matters  of  any  moment 
in  the  estimation  of  this  singular  people,  who  pride  them- 
selves upon  a  peculiar  regard  for  morality  and  an  especial 
devotion  to  individual  right.  Practically,  there  is  but  one 
kind  of  defamation  for  which  the  press  is  there  ever  held 
responsible — the  imputation  of  a  lack  of  financial  ability  to 
a  man  of  wealth.  This  is  counted  an  assault  on  the  palladium 
of  liberty.  An  employe  may  be  accused  of  peculation  or 
fraud  or  a  poor  man  denounced  as  a  trickster  or  a  thief,  in 
full-faced  capitals,  and  if,  by-and-bye,  he  is  able  to  obtain 
a  retraction  in  unleaded  agate,  he  may  thank  his  stars  and 
the  unforced  courtesy  of  the  manager.  Of  whatever  affects 
the  financial  status  or  commercial  integrity  of  the  rich  or 
supposedly  rich,  however,  the  Northern  journalist  is  very 
chary.  And  well  he  may  be,  for  he  knows  that  the  law 
reserves  its  Gorgon  terrors  for  such  offenses.  All  things 
else  he  may  assail  without  fear  of  court  or  jury,  law  or 
bailiff  ;  but  let  him  beware  how  he  touches  the  rich  man's 
credit  or  impugns  his  power  to  pay.  Ah,  well ;  all  peo- 
ples worship  something,  and  it  only  happens  that  our 
brethren  of  the  North  exalt  into  the  highest  place  the 
power  to  accumulate — the  reputation  of  ability  to  pay — 
and  naturally  defend  most  rigorously  what  they  prize  most 
highly ! 


386  BIOHTT-NINE. 

As  I  sprang  from  my  horse  I  found  myself  beset  by 
half-a-dozen  of  these  importunate  agents  of  the  great 
news-mongering  power. 

*'How  much  will  it  amount  to?"  asked  one.  The 
others  listened,  pencil  in  hand. 

''  What  ? "  I  asked. 

"  The  defalcation,  of  course." 

"  Whose  ? " 

*'  Why,  General  Fairbanks's." 

"  Not  u  cent." 

"Isn't  he  'short'?" 

"Not  a  dollar." 

"Pay  his  debts?" 

"All  he  owes." 

"  Like  to  buy  some  of  his  paper  ?" 

"  All  you  will  bring." 

"  The  devil ! " 

I  smiled  sardonically  and  started  up  the  steps. 

"  Hold  on  a  minute." 

One  of  them  had  stepped  before  me. 

"  Know  anything  'bout  this  woman  that  went  off  with 
him  ?  " 

"  She  is  my  mother."    I  heard  a  titter  behind  me. 

"  Married  ?  " 

"  A  month  ago." 

"  No  mistake  about  that  ?"  He  looked  at  me  with  a 
significant  leer.     The  next  instant  he  was  sprawling  on  the 


EIGHTY-NINE.  287 

ground.  He  had  touched  my  idol  and  I  had  resented  it  in 
true  Southern  fashion.  Then  I  turned  upon  the  others, 
white  with  wrath  : 

"  Gentlemen,  I  have  answered  your  questions  frankly. 
General  Fairbanks  married  my  mother  more  than  a  month 
ago.  If  any  one  dares  to  write,  publish  or  hint  a  word  in 
derogation  of  her  character  I  will  kill  him  if  I  ever  get 
within  arm's  length  of  him.'' 

I  spoke  in  a  very  low  tone.  I  was  too  angry  to  speak 
loud. 

"  Don't  blame  you  a  bit,"  said  the  one  I  had  knocked 
down,  scrambling  to  his  feet,  "  And  you  must  not  blame 
us.  We  have  to  do  it.  The  worse  the  scandal  the 
better  the  story.  That's  business,  you  know,  no  matter 
whether  it's  your  mother  or  mine.  I  shall  say  they  are 
married  though.     Can  you  tell  me  anything  more  ?  " 

He  was  brushing  the  dust  off  his  clothes  with  a  hand- 
kerchief as  he  spoke.  I  could  not  help  smiling.  He  was, 
after  all,  a  manly-looking  fellow,  about  my  own  age.  We 
were  calculated  for  different  meridians,  that  was  all.  I 
could  not  resist  his  imperturbable  good  nature. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  I  said,  as  I  entered  the  house. 
They  all  sat  down  upon  the  steps  and  "  wrote  up"  what 
had  passed.  It  flashed  upon  me  that  it  might  be  well  to 
make  friends  with  these  purveyors  for  the  public  maw. 

My  mood  changed  as  I  passed  the  threshold.  The  few 
remaining  guests  were  about  to  take  their  departure.  They 


288  EIGHTY-NINE. 

were  tearful,  troubled,  mystified.  The  servants  were 
curious,  wondering,  but  mostly  faithful  and  sympathetic. 
From  (iieneral  Fairbanks's  lawyer  I  learned,  briefly,  what 
had  happened  during  my  absence.  The  transfer  of  Edith's 
property  luid  been  made  and  the  money  j)aid  over.  Mr. 
Martling  had  called.  What  had  occurred  between  him 
and  Edith  the  lawyer  did  not  know.  He  had  been  sum- 
moned to  the  room  after  a  time  and  found  Martling  hold- 
ing General  Fairbank's  note  and  demanding  payment  in  a 
threatening  tone.  At  Edith's  request,  he  had  examined 
the  note  and  its  endorsements  and  tendered  payment,  de- 
manding the  delivery  of  the  collateral.  To  his  surprise 
Martling  had  refused,  with  some  hesitation,  to  deliver  the 
collateral,  and  consequently  the  note  remained  unpaid. 
Thereupon  Martling  had  been  requested  to  leave  the  prem- 
ises and  had  done  so,  vowing  vengeance. 

Immediately  afterwards,  officers,  armed  Avith  a  warrant 
for  General  Fairbanks's  arrest,  had  presented  themselves 
and  insisted  on  searching  the  house  from  cellar  to  garret, 
which  they  proceeded  to  do.  This  indignity  had  com- 
pletely prostrated  Edith.  She  remained  firm,  however,  in 
her  determination  to  leave  the  house  at  once,  and  had 
given  the  lawyer  full  and  explicit  directions  as  to  the  re- 
moval of  her  personal  belongings.  I  learned  that  the  con- 
tract of  sale  contained  a  covenant  for  repurchase  within  a 
limited  period  of  time.  I  could  not  understand  it  then. 
It  was  not  till  many  years  afterwards  that  I  learned  how 


EIGHTY-NINE.  289f 

strong  is  the  impulse  of  the  Yankee  towards  the  re- 
habilitation of  his  prestige  when  the  same  has  been  impaired 
by  mischance.  Subsequent  success  loses  half  its  sweet- 
ness to  him  unless  he  can  flaunt  it  in  the  faces  of  those  who 
witnessed  his  downfall.  Ambrose  Fairbanks  Avas  not  ex- 
empt from  this  almost  ethnic  inclination.  It  was  not 
vanity,  but  the  defiant  pride  of  self-justification.  Its  dis- 
covery explained  to  me  the  myriad  of  hopeless,  uncomplain- 
ing wrecks  that  lie  upon  the  strand  of  Northern  business 
life,  utterly  abject  and  pitiful,  whose  names  were  once 
talismanic  in  their  golden  potency.  They  would  rather  be 
nothing  than  be  anything  less  than  they  once  were. 


The  blinds  were  shut  close  and  the  house  was  filled 
with  funereal  gloom  rather  than  nuptial  gladness,  when  the 
man  of  God,  Avith  sad  and  troubled  visage,  pronounced  us 
man  and  Avife.  Edith,  in  her  traveling  suit,  Avas  tearful 
and  dejected.  The  few  friends  avIio  Avitnessed  the  rite 
wore  dolorous  faces.  Without  consulting  Edith,  I  Avent 
and  invited  in  the  bevy  of  reporters.  They  Avere  fair-minded 
fellows,  Avilling  to  do  a  good  turn  when  their  professional 
duties  permitted .  I  am  confident  that  this  act  of  courtesy 
drcAV  the  sting  from  the  tail  of  many  a  paragraph.  The 
brave  old  laAvyer  gave  us  a  cheerful  greeting  and  foretold 
for  us  a  happy  future. 


290  EIQHTY-NINE. 

*         *         * 

The  great  Metropolis  had  begun  its  holiday  when  we 
drove  through  its  crowded  streets,  at  eventide.  The  guns 
were  thundering  forth  the  national  salute  and  the  bells 
were  greeting  the  anniversary  of  a  nation's  birth  when,  at 
midnight,  we  passed  through  the  city  where  it  was  cradled. 
The  flags  were  tossing  gaily  in  the  morning  breeze  when 
we  reached  the  National  Capital. 

Though  it  was  her  wedding  journey,  Edith's  tears 
flowed  afresh  at  each  of  these  manifestations,  as  if  they 
were  the  harbingers  of  woe  rather  than  the  notes  of  exulta- 
tion. It  was  no  longer  her  country.  Her  pride  in  its 
glory  was  dead.  The  sight  of  the  flag  brought  a  flush  of 
shame.  The  father  who  had  fought  for  it  had  fled  from  its 
shadow.  Whether  he  had  acted  rightly  or  wrongly  mat- 
tered little.  His  name  was  to  be  thenceforth  a  mark  for 
jest  and  scorn.  She  put  her  fingers  in  her  ears  and  my 
hands  clenched  involuntarily  when  the  newsboy  leajDcd 
upon  the  train,  as  it  slowed  up  on  entering  the  station, 
shouting  a  name  whose  renown  gave  pungency  to  the  story 
its  glaring  head-lines  made  prominent. 

I  no  longer  marvelled  at  her  suffering.  I  wondered  if 
any  of  the  passengers  would  recognize  her.  Ah,  no,  they 
talked  and  laughed  of  the  new  sensation,  while  she  wept 
behind  her  veil  and  we  sped  on,  away  from  poisoned  tongues 
and  prying  eyes.  I  was  never  before  so  glad  that  the 
South  remained  the  South,  despite  all  that  had  occurred 


EIGHTY-NINE.  291 

as  on  that  day.     For  the  first  time  my  father's  prophecy 
of  ultimate  separation  seemed  to  me  a  desirable  result. 


A  few  short  years  of  quiet  happiness  and  ever-hoping 
hopelessness,  and  then  I  laid  the  gentle  Northern  wife  be- 
side the  stern,  poor-white  grandmother,  the  gallant  Con- 
federate father  and  the  sunny-haired  sister,  slain  by  the 
barbarity  of  strife,  on  the  shaded  slope  of  Ryalmont. 

She  never  rallied  from  the  cruel  stroke  that  shattered 
her  pride  and  hope.  Even  my  love  was  powerless  to  woo 
her  back  to  the  full  enjoyment  of  life.  Weakened  by  the 
shock,  and  prostrated  by  humiliation,  the  scourge  of  her 
native  region  claimed  her  and  crowned  her  last  days  with 
that  peculiar  loveliness  which  only  comes  on  earth  to  those 
to  whom  it  opens  the  jDortals  of  eternity. 

This  was  the  legacy  of  her  love,  written  on  the  dark 
yellow  sheets  which  contained  my  father's  last  behest : 

"I  heartily  approve  what  is  herein  enjoined,  and  trust 
that  every  memory  of  me  may  be  an  added  incentive  to  its 
fulfillment. 

Edith." 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

The  sheets  are  creased  and  worn.  The  paper  is  of 
that  dull  yellow  which  was  all  the  kind  we  had 
within  the  lines  of  the  Confederacy.  The  ink  is  blurred, 
and  the  pages  are  unevenly  written  as  if  done  at  different 
times.  The  sheets  bear  the  printed  official  heading  of  the 
Army  of  Northern  Virginia ;  and  the  first  is  dated  from 
the  camp  on  the  line  at  Petersburg,  hardly  a  fortnight 
before  the  end  came.  It  bears  my  dead  father's  signature 
and  my  dead  wife's  indorsement.  Two  loved  s])irits  joined 
in  beckoning  me  along  the  path  I  took — the  extremes  of 
our  western  civilization  united  in  commending  the  duty 
it  enjoins.  There  was  little  to  prevent  my  acceptance  of 
the  task,  yet  there  seemed  nothing  for  me  to  do. 

So  in  the  years  that  followed  I  read  and  re-read  the 
fading  lines,  like  a  fakir  meditating  on  his  chosen  text. 
With  assiduous  care  and  unflagging  zeal  I  verified  its  pre- 
mises and  noted  the  indices  that  strengthened  its  conclusions. 
Perhaps  it  would  have  seemed  to  another  the  rhapsody  of 
a  mere  visionary.  To  me  it  was  the  thought  of  one 
greater  than  his  age — one  who  lived  before  his  time — who 
made  me  simply  the  instrument  of  his  will,  the  agent  of 
his  prophetic  forecast.  I  have  done  Jittle  but  learn  its 
significance  and  apply  its  precepts.     For  years  I  could  do. 

292 


EIGHTY. NINE.  293 

no  more  than  strive  to  grasp  its  reason  and  spirit — to  rise 
to  the  level  on  which  it  was  written.  The  task  was  not 
easy.  All  around  was  chaos :  the  strife  of  party  and 
faction  and  greed.  Passion  and  prejudice  hid  the  face  of 
truth.  Now  and  then  came  a  gleam  of  light,  then  dark- 
ness. I  gave  myself  to  meditation  as  the  saint  devotes 
himself  to  prayer.  I  studied  the  North  and  the  South,  the 
rich  and  the  poor,  the  black  and  the  white.  This  missive 
from  the  grave — the  posthumous  teaching  of  a  noble  spirit 
— was  my  guide.  Because  I  had  fully  learned  the  truths 
it  set  forth  I  was  enabled,  when  the  occasion  came,  not 
indeed  to  effect  or  even  to  precipitate  the  great  result,  but 
to  determine  in  some  degree  the  character  of  the  means  by 
which  it  was  effected. 

I  have  read  it  so  often  that  my  eyes  need  not  the  aid 
of  the  fading  lines  to  determine  its  contents.  These 
are  the  words  my  father  wrote  for  me  to  read  upon  the 
threshold  of  manhood  and  which  love  reaffirmed  as  a  last 
behest : 

''  My  Dear  Soif  f 

*'  If  you  have  obeyed  my  injunction  you  will  have 
reached  an  age  when  you  should  be  competent  to  decide 
important  questions  without  liaving  assumed  obligations 
which  will  prevent  your  undertaking  the  work  I  shall 
indicate,  should  your  judgment  and  inclination  lead  you 
to  do  so.     I  have  prescribed   this  delay  because  not  only 


294  EIGHTY-NINE. 

is  a  man's  judgment  often  warped  by  his  individual  in- 
terests, but  because  tlie  happiness  of  those  he  loves 
is  apt  to  incline  him  to  a  middle  course  rather  than 
induce  him  to  devote  himself  wholly  to  any  great 
purpose. 

"  \  do  not  wish  to  take  from  3'^ou  the  right  of  self- 
direction.  I  know  that  every  life  must  shape  its  own 
destiny.  What  I  shall  write  herein  is  intended  to  appeal 
to  your  brain,  not  to  your  heart — to  be  advisory,  not  man- 
datory. What  will  occur  in  the  years  that  will  have  inter- 
vened between  the  inditement  of  this  missive  and  its 
perusal  by  you  I  cannot  tell.  What  I  may  write  you  will 
understand  is  bused  solely  upon  deductions  from  the  past. 
When  you  shall  read  this,  knowledge  may  have  overturned 
hypothesis  and  you  may  clearly  perceive  me  to  have  been 
as  much  at  fault  in  my  prognostications  as  were  those 
worthy  spirits  of  our  early  history  who  vainly  hoped  to 
limit  and  confine  all  coming  time  to  the  narrow  lines  of 
their  own  preconceptions.  As  I  perceive  their  errors,  now 
clearly  outlined  on  the  background  of  the  past,  so  you  may 
take  note  of  elements  I  have  not  been  able  to  forecast 
which  may  render  my  premonitions  vain.  Should  such  be 
the  case,  I  am  sure  you  will  kindly  cover  your  father's 
error  with  the  mantle  of  oblivion.  If,  however,  your 
judgment  shall  approve  my  words,  I  submit  to  your  con- 
science, your  patriotism,  your  duty  to  humanity  and  the 
love  for  true  and  enduring  fame  which  I  trust  you  will 


EIGHTT-NINE.  295 

possess,  what  shall  be  the  course  you  will  pursue.  If  the 
dead  may  touch  the  living  consciousness,  I  shall  be  beside 
you  when  you  read  these  words  ! 

*'  Almost  four  years  of  war  should  teach  lessons  of 
wisdom.  As  you  know,  I  have  never  been  one  of  those 
who  count  such  convulsions  the  mere  fruit  of  accident. 
Whatever  be  the  power  that  controls  the  universe,  to-day 
is  irresistibly  unfolded  out  of  yesterday,  and  not  more 
surely  does  the  bud  contain  leaf  and  flower  and  fruit  than 
is  to-morrow  to  be  found  in  embryo  within  to-day. 

"  During  these  years  of  conflict,  while  I  trust  that  I 
may  not  be  held  to  have  been  deficient  in  action,  I  have 
found  time  to  meditate  upon  the  causes  and  consequences  of 
current  events.  The  camp,  the  march  and  even  the  silent 
battlefield,  lying  beneath  the  stars  with  its  burden  of  stark 
and  cold  humanity,  not  only  afford  ample  opportunity  for 
thought,  but  stimulate  to  the  highest  pitch  the  inclination 
of  the  philosophical  mind  to  call  upon  the  present  to  stand 
and  deliver  up  the  secrets  of  the  past  in  order  that  we  may 
thereby  unlock  the  mysteries  of  the  future. 

"  War  is  but  a  crisis  in  the  eternal  conflict  between 
the  opposing  forces  of  humanity.  Folly  may  precipitate 
such  a  crisis,  or  wisdom  may  avoid  it.  In  this  sense  war 
has  been  well  defined  to  be  a  game  of  fools.  But  neither  wis- 
dom nor  folly  can  prevent  the  collision  of  hostile  forces.  The 
struggle  may  ripen  into  one  of  mere  brute  force  and  be 
called  war,  or  result  in  a  general  recognition  of  a  tendency 


296  EIOHTY-NINE. 

too  strong  to  be  resisted  and  be  called  progress  or  peaceful 
revolution.  Of  course,  one  is  foolish  and  the  other  wise, 
but  in  both  cases  there  must  be  conflict — triumph  and 
defeat,  establishment  and  overthrow.  This  endless  strife 
we  call  civilization.  The  soldier  is  as  much  its  instrument 
as  the  statesman.  Neither  creates — only  represents.  The 
one  is  the  product  of  latent  savagery  ;  the  other  the  outcome 
of  a  refinement  that  prefers  canning  to  force — strategy  to 
assault.  We  soldiers  of  the  great  republic  now  severed  in 
twain,  who  have  for  four  years  faced  and  fought  each  other, 
are  not  mere  creatures  of  intrigue  and  chicane.  We  have 
not  slain  each  other  to  attain  favor  or  to  exalt  party  lead- 
ers. We  are  simply  the  contrasted  types  of  the  past, 
developed  along  opposing  lines.  We  are  representatives  of 
two  distinct  and  mutually  repugnant  civilizations. 

"■  Of  these  I  do  not  doubt  that  onrs  of  the  South  is  as 
yet  weaker  in  the  elements  that  win  battles  under  the  con- 
ditions of  modern  warfare,  but  I  believe  it  to  be  much  the 
stronger  in  its  distinctive  character  and  harmonious  devel- 
opment. AVe  shall  be  conquered  in  war  but  not  overcome 
in  spirit.  When  our  banner  trails  in  the  dust — as  I  am 
sure  it  will  before  many  days— the  South  will  still  be  the 
South.  Our  enemies  may  hold  it  as  conquered  territory, 
but  they  will  never  be  able  to  assimilate  its  people.  The 
distance  between  them  and  us  will  really  be  no  greater  than 
it  was  before  war  intervened,  but  it  will  be  infinitely  more 
distinct.   It  will  l)e  fermed  the  results  of  war  ;  it  will  really 


EIGHTY-NINE.  29? 

be  a  result  of  peace.  Paradoxical  as  it  may  appear,  we  should 
be  much  more  closely  united  as  two  governments  than  we  can 
be  as  one.  What  may  happen  I  cannot  tell.  Resistance 
may  cease.  Submission  may  be  comiilete.  The  very  hope 
of  political  separation  may  be  abandoned.  Yet  the  two 
will  never  be  one  people,  animated  by  one  impulse,  governed 
by  one  idea!  One  in  name  though  they  may  be,  they  will 
continue  two  in  spirit.  As  we  have  been  in  the  past  so  we 
shall  be  in  the  future,  two  peoples  under  one  name — two 
nations  under  one  form. 

"  This  will  not  last.  In  your  day,  as  in  mine,  it  may 
be.  necessary  to  elect  whether  you  will  serve  the  form  or 
the  spirit — whether  you  will  follow  the  impulse  of  separa- 
tion or  yield  to  the  sentiment  of  union.  Wisdom  and 
patriotism  may  direct  that  yon  shall  take  a  course  in  formal 
opposition  to  that  which  I  chose.  I  cannot  tell.  I  hope 
you  will  act  wisely  and  am  sure  you  will  act  bravely.  I 
have  tried  to  leave  you  an  inheritance  of  honor,  and  feel 
assured  that  you  will  not  cast  reproach  upon  your  father's 
singleness  of  purpose,  however  you  may  regret  his  con- 
viction. 

"History  teaches,  if  I  read  it  aright,  that  such  a  people 
as  ours  may  be  overwhelmed  but  cannot  be  transformed. 
On  the  contrary,  one  of  three  things  has  invariably  hap- 
pened in  similar  cases  :  either  the  struggle  has  been 
renewed  with  fresh  ardor  within  a  generation  ;  the  power 
of  the   victor  has  been  relaxed  and  peaceful   separation 


298  EIGHTY-NINE. 

ensued,  or  the  underlying  imjoulse  of  the  jieople  making 
the  appeal  to  arms  has  so  impermeated  and  transformed 
the  opposing  mass  as  to  be  accepted  as  the  dominant  and 
controlling  idea  of  the  whole  people. 

"■■'  In  our  case  I  see  no  possibility  of  this  latter  result 
occurring.  The  North  has  hitherto  yielded  to  the 
domination  and  control  of  the  South,  not  because  it 
approved  our  ideas,  but  with  a  curious  hesitating  forbear- 
ance for  them.  It  is  natural  to  suppose  that  rhis  will  dis- 
appear with  victory.  Hitherto  the  South  has  attributed 
such  forbearance  to  fear,  and  will  be  likely  to  regard  its 
absence  as  resulting  from  hate.  At  all  events,  it  is  hardly 
possible  that  the  South  will  be  restored  to  its  old  political 
supremacy  and  the  nation  quietly  submit  to  its  demands  as 
before  the  severance  of  the  federal  relation.  The  tie, 
though  it  may  not  be  entirely  broken  by  the  conflict,  will 
be  so  seriously  weakened  as  to  be  unable  to  bear  any  similar 
strain  in  the  future. 

"  It  seems  most  probable  that  a  state  of  suspended 
animation  will  supervene  at  the  South  upon  the  overthrow 
of  the  Confederacy,  and  if  it  were  not  for  the  presence  of 
the  colored  race,  assimilation  would  no  doubt  rapidly 
ensue.  Slavery  is,  of  course,  already  doomed.  As  a  form 
of  society  it  has  served  its  mission  and  cannot  longer  be 
kept  alive  ;  but  the  vast  number  of  blacks,  together  with 
their  poverty  and  inaptness  for  self-control,  will  prevent 
their  expulsion  from  the  South  or  gradual  distribution  over 


EIGHTY. NINE.  299 

the  whole  country  and  consequently  prohibit  the  influx  of 
laboring  masses  either  from  the  North  or  from  Europe.  In 
fact,  the  weakness  of  the  race  will  really  constitute  its 
strength  and  our  peril.  "We  have  shaped  their  past  for  our 
own  advantage  and  must  shape  their  future  for  our  own 
safety. 

"  The  abolition  of  slavery,  which  must  follow  the 
overthrow  of  the  military  jiower  of  the  Confederacy,  instead 
of  bringing  the  South  and  North  nearer  together  in  purpose 
and  character,  it  seems  to  me,  must  inevitably  leave  them 
farther  apart  in  sentiment  and  interest.  WJiat  will  be  to 
one  meat  will  be  to  the  other  poison.  Differences  are  sure 
to  arise  and  conflict  or  separation  must  ultimately  come. 
The  North  is  certain  to  look  with  jealousy  upon  the  relation 
of  the  races  in  the  subjugated  dominion.  The  white  peo- 
ple of  the  South  must  govern  and  control  without  dictation 
and  without  regard  for  the  wishes,  inclinations  and  aspira- 
tions of  the  Negro  race,  or  abandon  the  territory  to  anarchy, 
barbarism  and  decay. 

"So  the  white  people  of  the  South  will  be  forced  to 
face  the  alternative  of  another  struggle  for  separate  exist- 
ence or  the  abandonment  of  their  supremacy  and  control 
over  the  Negro.  There  is  no  middle  ground.  The  latter 
it  is  hardly  necessary  to  consider.  Whether  the  former 
shall  be  violent  or  peaceful  will  most  likely  be  the  real 
question. 

"  The  outcome  I  do  not  regard  as  at  all  doubtful.    The 


300  EIOUTY-NINE. 

destiny  of  the  South  is  fixed  and  certain.  "Whatever  be 
the  right  or  the  wrong  of  the  past,  the  South  must  control 
the  destiny  and  development  of  the  Negro  race  in  America, 
until  it  stands  on  a  level  in  intelligence  and  power,  man 
for  man,  with  the  Anglo-Saxon.  It  will  have  to  govern 
with  a  rod  of  iron  to  save  itself  from  annihilation — its 
liberty  and  civilization  from  destruction.  You  will  per- 
haps be  surprised  to  read  these  words,  but  sitting  in  my 
tent,  with  the  roar  of  the  enemy's  guns  in  my  ears,  I  seem 
to  see  the  future  more  clearly  than  ever  before,  and  feel 
impelled  as  if  by  the  presence  of  death  to  speak  freely. 
Do  not  be  misled  by  the  prejudices  of  the  past,  my  sou. 
The  Negro,  who  has  been  our  bondman  for  two  hundred 
and  fifty  years,  will  sometimebeour  peer— not  in  namcmerely; 
that  the  Washington  government  think  tliey  have  already 
made  him  by  the  edict  of  emancipation — but  in  fact.  I 
do  not  know  how  long  it  will  require — generations  or  cen- 
turies, it  is  all  the  same.  The  South  must  meanwhile  be 
his  guardian,  guide  and  teacher.  It  may  have  to  restrain 
harshly  for  its  own  salvation.  It  may  even  attempt  to 
destroy.  When  I  think  of  tlie  madness  which  hurried  us 
into  the  present  conflict,  I  cannot  but  tremble  for  the 
future. 

"  It  is  this  which  impels  me  to  write — to  warn,  to 
entreat  I  Oh,  my  son,  whatever  be  your  inclination,  how- 
ever harsh  may  be  the  lesson  of  submission  you  may  be 
called    upon  to  learn,  whatever  may  be  your  decision  in 


EIGHTY- NINE.  301 

regard  to  the  request  I  shall  prefer,  I  beg  you,  above  all 
things,  to  remember  that  the  race  we  have  kept  so  long 
beneath  our  feet ;  the  race  which  has  toiled  and  suffered  in 
our  service  :  the  race  whom  we  have  forbidden  to  drink  at 
the  fountain  of  knowledge;  the  race  which  has  dumbly 
borne  our  sins  and  shared  our  adversities;  the  race  which 
is  bound  to  us  by  every  consideration  of  justice  and  human- 
ity; the  race  whose  veins  are  already  swelling  with  Cau- 
casian blood  until  hardly  a  white  man  or  woman  lives  in 
the  South  who  has  not  a  brother,  a  sister  or  a  cousin  of 
dusky  hue — remember  that  this  race,  now  at  the  bottom  of 
the  ladder,  will  some  time  stand  beside  us  at  the  top. 
Eemember  this,  as  the  last  injunction  of  one  who  will  have 
given  his  life  for  his  people,  before  you  read  these  words, 
and  whose  dying  thought  will  be  of  you  and  them.  The 
South  must  freely  permit  and  wisely  direct  the  development 
of  this  new  people  born  of  her  civilization,  or  perish  by 
their  barbaric  strength  ! 

"  It  is  because  I  tremble  at  this  prospect  that  I  give 
it  you  sacredly  in  charge  never  to  omit  any  influence  you 
may  be  able  to  exert  to  incline  the  hearts  of  our  people  to 
this  great  task — this  overwhelming  duty.  By  its  perform- 
ance they  will  achieve  unrivalled  glory  I  By  its  neglect, 
they  will  deserve  eternal  sbam^  and  undying  execration  ! " 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

My  father's  letter  continued: 

*'  You  will  observe  it  to  have  been  the  almost  universal 
course  of  history  that  the  struggle  for  autonomy  on  the 
part  of  an  oppressed  or  subjugated  people  is  recurrent 
rather  than  continuous  in  its  nature,  and  that  the  period 
of  its  recurrence  may  usually  be  stated  with  sufficient 
accuracy  to  be  the  average  life  of  a  generation.  It  is  rare, 
indeed,  that  two  great  uprisings,  having  the  same  under- 
lying cause,  occur  within  the  active  limit  of  a  single  life  ; 
yet  how  often  an  unsuccessful  revolution  reappears  in  prac- 
tically the  same  form  twenty  or  thirty  years  after.  Not 
infrequently  this  periodicity  has  been  almost  as  exact  as  if 
human  events  moved  in  an  orbit  of  thirty  years.  In  our 
own  English  history  may  be  found  more  than  one  instance 
where  the  historian's  dividers  need  to  be  parted  only  the 
average  term  of  life  to  mark  the  recurrent  intervals  of 
strife,  based  substantially  on  the  same  causes. 

"  The  reasons  for  this  are  not  far  to  seek,  though  they 
are  rarely  accounted  worthy  of  attention.  It  has  grown 
into  a  maxim  that  the  sword  never  determines  the  right. 
The  overthrow  of  an  armed  insurrection  does  not  eradicate 
the  cause  of  revolution,  except  under  two  conditions.  The 
first  of  these  is  when  the  struggle  has  been  so  long  and 

303 


EIGHTY. NINE.  303 

exhaustive  or  the  repressive  measures  are  so  severe  as  prac- 
tically to  eradicate  the  dissatisfied  element.  The  second 
is  the  very  frequent  case  in  modern  history  where  the  sup- 
pression of  a  rebellion  is  followed  almost  immediately  by 
the  redress  of  the  specific  grievance  which  lay  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  attempted  revolution.  The  number  of  those 
occurring  within  the  last  half  of  the  last  century  led  a 
philosopher  to  denominate  it  '  the  bloody  seed-time  of 
liberty.' 

"  In  the  present  case,  the  former  course  seems  to  me 
very  unlikely  to  occur.   Our  government  does  not  appear  to 
be  of  a  character  to  inspire  resistance  to  the  bitter  end. 
There  is  no  lack  of  devotion  among  the  people,  and  except 
individual  cases  of  desertion,  the  army,  despite  the  priva- 
tions it  has  needlessly  been  called  upon  to  bear,  is  as  loyal 
and  true  as  when  the  shouts  of  victory  first  went  up  from 
the  hills  of  Manassas.     Thus  far  not  an  officer  has  gone 
over  to  the  enemy  or  failed  to  resist  until  the  utmost  limit 
of  endurance,  save  in  the  one  unaccountable  instance  of 
demoralization  and  disgrace  at  Donelson.     Even  then  there 
was  no  treachery  or  desertion,  only  incapacity  and  perhaps 
cowardice.     This  amazing  fidelity  to  our  cause  is  in  strik- 
ing contrast  to  the  stampede  which  occurred  at  the  out- 
break of  hostilities,  when  fully  one-third  of  those  bound 
by  military  oath  to  the  service  of  the  Federal  Government 
made  haste  to  throw  off  the  tie  of  allegiance  and  seek  service 
under  the  flag  of  the  Confederacy.    Though  this  has  been 


304  EIGHTY. NINE. 

one  of  the  most  expensive  and  stubbornly  contested  civil 
wars  in  history,  we  have  had  no  traitor.  No  southern 
leader  has  sought  to  make  terms  and  gain  advantage  or 
emolument  for  himself  by  betraying  his  command  to  the 
enemy.  No  traitor  has  opened  our  gates,  no  coward  has 
debauched  our  soldiery,  no  mercenary  has  sold  his  country 
for  gold. 

"  This  is  a  proud  record  for  our  glorious  but  doomed 
Confederacy.  I  do  not  remember  any  parallel  to  it  in  his- 
tory. Even  the  year  of  hopelessness  which  has  ensued 
since  the  relentless  Grant  assumed  command  of  the  enemy's 
forces  has  not  induced  any  officer  to  open  negotiations  for 
the  surrender  of  his  command  or  the  betrayal  of  our 
cause.  This  has  not  been  for  lack  of  opportunity.  The 
millions  of  the  North  are  known  to  be  at  the  disposal  of 
any  general  who  will  deliver  an  army  into  their  hands. 
More  than  once  the  emissaries  of  the  North  have  conveyed 
to  our  leaders  a  knowledge  of  great  personal  advantage 
to  be  gained  by  such  a  course.  More  than  one  safe-conduct 
has  covered  such  a  proposition.  It  is  said  that  a  civilian 
prisoner — a  man  high  in  the  counsels  of  the  enemy — 
offered  one  of  our  great  captains  a  million  dollars  if  he 
would  so  handle  his  command  as  to  render  it  useless  in  a 
great  emergency.  This  officer jwas  so  humiliated  and  alarmed 
that  he  made  haste  to  release  his  j^risoner  under  the  threat  of 
instant  death  if  ever  captured  again,  fearful  that  he  might 
find   an  ear  not  so  safely  guarded  by  honor.     The  North 


EIGHTY  NINE.  305 

has  been  Avilling  at  any  time  to  pay  the  most  extravagant 
price  for  treachery,  but  no  southern  leader  has  yielded  to 
temptation.  This  fact  itself  is  j)roof  conclusive  of  the 
distinctive  character  of  our  people. 

''  Despite  all  this,  however,  we  are  likely  to  be  over- 
whelmed partly  from  inherent  defects,  such  as  a  lack  of 
mechanical  skill  and  aptitude,  and  partly  from  the  fact 
that  our  government  seems  to  be  without  capacity  or 
genius  for  supplying  the  wants  of  our  armies.  All  winter 
we  have  almost  starved  and  frozen  in  the  sight  of  abun- 
dance. Meat  and  forage  enough  for  years  are  within  a  hun- 
dred miles.  Any  other  people  after  four  years  of  war, 
with  our  supply  of  native  textile  material,  would  have 
made  tents  and  clothing  enough  to  have  enabled  us  to  bid 
defiance  to  the  storms  of  winter  as  well  as  the  columns  of 
the  enemy.  We  have  liad  to  capture  the  better  part  of  our 
camp  equipage.  Thus,  while  the  confidence  of  the  coun- 
try in  the  army  and  of  the  army  in  the  country  is  undi- 
minished, the  confidence  of  both  army  and  people  in  the 
government  is  well-nigh  exhausted.  I  judge,  therefore, 
that  when  this  army  is  destroyed  or  disintegrated,  the 
country  will  submit  without  further  contest. 

"  In  that  event  I  do  not  anticipate  a  wholesale  pro- 
scription. A  few  will  no  doubt  be  punished.  I  do  not  see 
how  anything  less  can  be  expected.  Eight  or  wrong  in 
principle,  if  unsuccessful  in  fact,  we  cannot  anticipate 
entire  exemption  from  retril)ution,     T  do  not  think,  how- 


306  EIGHTY-NINE. 

ever  J  that  the  North  is  vengeful,  and  anticipate  instead  of 
severity  a  lenity  of  disposition  and  laxity  of  control  that 
will  leave  our  people  very  nearly  in  the  position  they  occu- 
pied before  the  outbreak  of  hostilities.  The  jieople  of  the 
North  are  essentially  mercantile,  if  not  always  mercenary,  in 
character.  Cost  is  the  great  bugbear  of  their  patriotism. 
To  them  the  cheapest  way  is  always  the  best.  They  would 
rather  be  misgoverned  at  half-price  than  pay  a  higher  rate 
for  good  government.  They  are  willing  to  tax  themselves 
extravagantly  for  schools  and  internal  improvements  which 
add  to  the  value  of  houses  and  lands  and  023en  new  ave- 
nues for  business ;  but  they  regard  war  as  a  terrible 
extravagance  and  will  never  consent  to  feed  and  clothe  an 
army  in  order  to  maintain  their  power  in  the  South  for  any 
length  of  time.  It  seems  probable,  therefore,  that  there 
will  be  some  sort  of  constitutional  restoration  of  our 
former  relations  at  an  early  day.  The  prevailing  impression 
among  the  officers  of  this  army  is  that  we  shall  be  restored 
with  slavery  prohibited.  Some  of  them  still  hope  for 
gradual  emancipation,  but  that  is  generally  thought  unreas- 
onable. No  one  looks  for  success  now.  We  only  hope 
the  struggle  will  end  with  honor. 

"  It  seems  also  unlikely,  if  not  impossible,  that  the 
ordinary  course  of  statesmanship  can  be  adopted  in  our  case. 
The  South  cannot  be  placated  by  granting  its  demands,  for 
those  demands  are  destructive  of  the  existence  of  the  gov- 
ernment as  Avell  as  repugnant  to  the  underlying  principles 


EIGHTY. KTNE.  307 

on  which  the  war  has  been  fought  by  the  people  of  the 
North.  The  South  demanded  two  things  and  has  based  its 
appeal  to  arms  upon  its  right  to  enjoy  the  same.  Eirst,  a 
separate  organic  existence,  and  second,  the  continuance  of 
slavery.  Of  course,  neither  of  these  demands  can  be 
granted  by  the  enemy  and  nothing  less  will  satisfy  our 
people.  I  anticipate  instead  a  period  of  anomalous,  unde- 
termined relations,  during  which  the  feeling  of  oppug- 
nancy  will  grow  stronger  but  be  less  apparent  than  before, 
until  some  new  occasion  for  its  display  arises.  Then  it 
will  be  found  that  the  fate  of  the  Confederacy,  instead  of 
being  an  effective  antidote  for  insurrection,  will  have  been 
but  a  stimulus  to  the  heroism  of  our  people.  .  Rivalry  of 
their  fathers'  glory  will  impel  our  sons  to  redoubled  exer- 
tions to  accomplish  Avhat  we  failed  to  achieve.  I  deem  it 
certain,  therefore,  that  within  the  period  of  your  expect- 
ancy of  life,  the  struggle  for  separation  will  be  renewed.  I 
do  not  desire  such  a  result  and  would  do  nothing  to  pro- 
mote it ;  but  deeming  it  inevitable,  I  wish  to  do  all  that 
lies  in  my  power  to  deprive  it  of  the  barbarous  and  san- 
guinary character  it  may  possibly  assume. 

"  I  dare  not  attempt  to  picture  the  horrors  I  appre- 
hend. Remember,  my  son,  that  Washington's  fevered 
visions  on  his  dying  bed  are  said,  by  reliable  tradition,  to 
have  been  of  a  war  of  races  in  our  beloved  South.  Even 
now,  while  the  bonds  of  slavery  are  yet  undissolved,  this 
most  terrible  of  national  woes  is  ever  present  to  the  appre- 


308  EIGHTY- NINE. 

hension  of  our  most  thoughtful  and  sagacious.  If  the 
period  of  uncertainty  Avhicli  must  follow  our  overthrow 
shall  pass  without  such  conflict,  I  apprehend  that  the  peril 
may  be  enhanced  by  the  less  clearly  defined  but  subordi- 
nate relations  which  the  race  must  sustain  to  their  former 
masters.  This  fact  is  certain  to  complicate  the  relations  of 
the  South  with  the  country  and  at  the  same  time  infinitely 
enhance  the  perils  and  horrors  of  war. 

"  The  experience  of  the  past  four  years  has  only 
strengthened  the  conviction  with  which  I  espoused  the 
cause  of  the  Confederacy,  as  to  the  inherent  and  ineradica- 
ble incompatability  between  the  civilization  of  the  North 
and  the  South  and  their  inevitable  tendency  to  divergence 
and  separation.  There  is  no  possible  solvent  that  can  per- 
manently and  peacefully  unite  such  hostile  and  repugnant 
elements  in  one  healthful  and  harmonious  development. 
Parodoxical  as  it  may  seem,  the  only  liope  of  permanent 
union  lies  through  temporary  but  organic  separation.  Be- 
sides the  polarizing  instincts  of  the  English  race,  the  clash 
of  conflicting  interests  and  the  subjection  of  great  classes 
to  irksome  and  perhaps  injurious  restraint  at  the  hands  of 
majorities  ignorant  or  apathetic  in  regard  to  their  special 
needs,  must  sooner  or  later  of  necessity  produce  organic 
separation.  At  the  same  time  the  necessity  of  self-protec- 
tion, pride  in  the  American  name  and  the  boundless  con- 
fidence of  the  English-speaking  peoples  in  the  honor  and 
good   faith   of  each  other,  will  no  doubt  incline  them"  to 


EIGHTY. NINE.  309 

such  federated  union  as  will  make  the  allied  republics 
infinitely  stronger,  more  harmonious  and  prosperous  than 
the  original  nationality  could  ever  hope  to  become. 

"  This  inclination  to  separate  organic  nationality, 
accompanied  by  even  closer  and  stronger  alliance,  is  already 
showing  itself  among  English-sijeaking  peoples.  Canada 
and  Australia  are  infinitely  stronger  props  to  the  English 
throne  in  a  half-dependent  relation,  than  they  would  ever 
have  become  as  purely  subordinate  colonies  with  a  central 
government . 

"  The  South  is  homogeneous.  If  you  take  your  map 
and  draw  a  line  westward  along  the  northern  boundaries  of 
Maryland,  Virginia,  Kentucky,  and  Missouri,  you  will  have 
to  the  southwestward  a  body  of  people  essentially  one  in 
their  instincts,  prejudices,  interests  and  traditions.  Prac- 
tically, this  M^hole  region  was  a  unit  in  the  support  of  the 
Confederate  cause.  The  two  sections  merely  dropped  apart 
along  this  line.  The  conflict  has  been  in  no  proper  sense  a 
civil  war.  Except  in  a  limited  region  along  the  Appalachian 
range  there  has  been  no  discordant  element  in  the 
South  and  no  really  internecine  strife.  The  enemy  has 
waged  a  war  of  invasion  from  the  outset.  Their  armies 
have  been  on  foreign  soil  and  among  hostile  people.  Ex- 
cept the  colored  race,  whose  hopes  and  interests  incline 
them  to  the  enemy,  it  has  been  almost  impossible  for  them 
to  obtain  information  of  our  movements,  no  sort  of  induce- 
ment proving  suflBcient  to  obtain  reliable  spies  among  our 


310  EKiHTY-MNE. 

people.  It  is  true  that  the  sagacity  of  the  man  so  greatly 
misappreciated  by  us — the  Presiileut  of  the  United  States 
— has  subtly  contrived  to  make  it  appear  otherwise.  -Of 
the  hantlful  of  malcontents  in  some  of  the  border  states, 
he  has  made  a  host,  by  the  simple  process  of  organizing 
regiments  of  volunteers  bearing  the  names  of  such  states 
and  professedly  recruited  from  their  population.  This 
showing  is  specious  but  effective.  Most  of  these  men  and 
nearly  all  the  officers  come  from  other  states.  The  muster- 
roll  of  one,  whieli  was  ea[itured  by  our  forces,  contained 
the  names  of  less  than  a  hundred  natives  of  the  state  it 
professed  to  represent.  It  was  a  shrewd  artifice  and  a 
most  effective  means  of  deceiving  other  nations  and  keep- 
ing up  the  courage  of  his  own  people.  It  was  a  fair 
stratagem,  too,  and  ouglit  to  have  taught  our  leaders 
long  ago  that  they  could  not  afford  to  desjiise  the  head  of 
the  Federal  Government  Long  before  you  read  these  lines, 
however,  I  doubt  not  the  fallacy  of  the  claim  will  have 
become  apparent.  You  will  readily  I'jerceive  that  the 
South  is  and  always  has  been  homogeneous  and  united  on  all 
matters  touching  its  interests,  fame  and  destiny. 

"  While  I  have  become  still  more  thoroughly  con- 
vinced of  the  truth  on  which  the  movement  for  separation 
was  actually  based,  I  have  also  become  more  fully  convinced 
of  the  foolish  and  needless  character  of  the  war  that  has 
been  waged  to  secure  this  end.  Had  the  executive  head  of 
the  Confederacy  been  anything  like  a  match  in  diplomacy 


EIGHTY-NINE.  311 

and  statecraft  for  the  shrewd  anfl  cautious  western  lawj'er 
who  has  directed  the  course  of  the  government  at  Wash- 
ington, I  fully  believe  that  separation  might  even  then 
have  been  achieved  without  the  shedding  of  a  drop  of 
blood.  The  only  real  obstacle  to  its  consummation  was 
the  unexpectedly  fierce  and  almost  universal  liostility  of 
the  North  to  the  institution  of  slavery.  Even  this  senti- 
ment, however,  on  the  part  of  the  more  rancorous  and 
active  wing  of  our  opponents  would  have  favored  our  pro- 
ject. If  we  bad  merely  refused  to  cooperate  in  the  gov- 
ernment, had  withdrawn  from  all  participation  in  its 
affairs,  peaceably  but  firmly  protesting  our  right  to  organ- 
ize a  government  for  ourselves  and  prepared  diligently  to 
resist  encroachment  but  studiously  refrained  from  25i"o voic- 
ing conflict,  I  believe  it  cpiite  possible  that  we  might  have 
secured  organic  independence  without  the  bitter  scath  of 
war. 

'•  It  is  because  of  these  convictions,  my  son,  that  I 
have  determined  to  write  these  things  to  you.  If  you  have 
complied  with  my  request,  as  I  do  not  doubt  that  you  have, 
you  have  been  an  oljserver  but  not  a  particij)ant  in  the 
greatest  war  of  modern  times.  You  have  seen,  and  in 
your  own  person  as  well  as  in  the  persons  of  those  you  love, 
have  been  taught  how  terrible  a  curse  it  is.  You  are  now 
arrived  at  an  age  when  you  ought  to  be  able  to  weigh  and 
estimate  the  truth  of  my  prognostications.  You  are  encum- 
bered by  no  domestic  ties,  other  than  the  duties  you  owe  to 


313  EIGHTY-XrXE. 

the  widowed  mother  whom  I  charge  you  never  to  forget. 
You  have  an  honorable  name,  and  will,  I  trust,  be  in  posses- 
sion of  a  fair  estate.  If  I  am  correct  in  these  anticipations, 
and  upon  weighing  and  considering  what  I  have  written 
you  shall  believe  it  to  be  a  true  and  reasonable  forecast,  I 
charge  you  as  a  son  who  would  make  glad  the  spirit  of  his 
father,  as  a  son  who  remembers  the  flame  that  consumed 
the  roof-tree,  from  which  his  loved  ones  fled,  as  a  man  who 
recognizes  his  duty  to  humanity,  as  a  patriot  who  would 
serve  his  country  and  as  a  Christian  Avho  would  serve  his 
God,  that  you  devote  yourself  to  do  all  that  lies  in  your 
power  to  make  the  inevitable  separation  bloodless,  peaceful 
and  just,  as  becomes  the  solemn  convention  of  two  free  and 
enlightened  rejiublics. 

''  I  charge  you  that  you  undertake  this  work  if  it 
seem  good  and  feasible,  and  that  you  allow  no  personal 
interest,  no  desire  for  wealth  nor  inclination  to  ease,  to  divert 
you  therefrom  until  you  have  achieved  the  end  or  seen  your 
most  earnest  efforts  fail.  Your  father's  fame  has  been  won 
in  war.  Because  he  has  learned  its  folly  and  its  woe,  he 
consecrates  you  to  the  service  of  peace.  If  he  has  won 
honor  in  arms,  may  you  win  a  far  richer  fame  in  the  pre- 
vention of  strife  !  Be  thou,  my  son,  indeed  a  knight  of 
the  Holy  Cross,  which  is  forever  consecrated  to  peace,  in 
order  that  you  may  save  your  country  from  the  woes  that 
impend  ! 

^'  If  this  task  seems  to  you  a  proper  undertaking,  I 


EIGHIY-NINE.        *  313 

desire  you  to  know  that  so  far  as  the  powers  of  the  unseen 
world  permit  I  shall  watch  over  and  aid  you  in  its  perform- 
ance. Should  it  prove  impracticable  or  beyond  your 
power,  I  desire  that  you  will  some  time  make  this  public 
as  your  justification  and  defence.  With  this  purpose  in 
view  I  have  had  the  same  attested  by  the  signature  of  the 
commanding  general  and  one  of  the  corps  commanders  of 
the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia,  whose  verification  will 
establish  its  authenticity  beyond  all  question. 

"  As  one  Avho  goes  forth  to  die,  I  salute  you,  and 
implore  the  blessing  of  Heaven  upon  you  and  the  faithful 
wife  and  loving  mother,  whom  I  commend  to  your  care,  as 
I  devote  you  to  the  country  for  which  I  go  to  render  up  my 
life.  Your  aftectiouate  father, 

"  Godson  OwEif." 


CHAPTEK  XXXII. 

1  was  the  sole  devisee  of  my  wife,  but  I  cared  nothing 
for  the  Avealtli  at  juy  command.  The  money  which  her 
fatliers  enemies  had  refused  had  been  transmitted  to  him 
and  became  the  basis  of  his  subsequent  financial  success. 
Every  one  knows  tlie  history  of  those  remarkable  achieve- 
ments by  which  an  unknown  adventurer  subjugated  the 
realm  Pizarro  conquered  and  made  the  whole  business  of 
the  Western  slope  of  two  continents  tributary  to  a  single 
will.  Under  half  a  score  of  names,  one  mind  seemed  to  be 
at  work  to  achieve  a  single  purpose.  When  this  force  was 
withdrawn  from  any  specific  enterprise  it  visibly  languished 
and  usually  failed. 

It  Avas  not  long  after  his  departure  that  a  force  hostile 
to  the  great  Rock  Oil  Combination  began  to  make  itself  felt. 
Most  unexpectedly,  new  fields  in  which  it  had  little  or  no  in- 
terest were  discovered  one  after  another  and  put  in  operation 
with  an  exactness  of  anticipation  which  several  times 
threatened  its  su])remacy.  As  a  result  more  than  one  who 
had  been  wrecked  by  its  rapacity  became  suddenly  rich. 
Men  found  themselves  unexpectedly  possessed  of  rights 
which  they  had  long  forgotten — some  were  unable  even  to 
recall  how  they  had  become  possessed  of  them.     Among 

314 


EIGHTY-NINE.  315 

these  was  the  widow  of  Collyev,  while  others  were  men  to 
whom  Greneral  Fairbanks  had  owed  favor.  It  is  strange 
that  this  fact  did  not  attract  attention;  yet  the  lynx-eyed 
managers  of  the  great  company  whose  ramifications  .were 
becoming  so  infinite  that  every  man,  woman  and  child 
npon  the  continent  paid  enforced  tribute  to  its  power  anfl 
greed,  failed  to  note  the  force  that  was  so  relentlessly  pur- 
suing them.  Neither  had  I  any  suspicions.  Indeed  I 
paid  little  heed  to  matters  of  that  sort. 

During  Edith's  life  my  existence  was  bound  up 
in  hers,  and  I  have  always  been  unable  to  find  place  in  my 
heart  for  many  things  at  one  time.  The  tender  beauty  of  her 
nature  subjugated  my  entire  being,  and  I  had  little  thought 
for  anything  except  to  add  if  I  might  a  few  days  to  the  span 
of  her  existence,  and  to  meditate  with  something  close 
akin  to  hatred  upon  the  mysterious  force  whicli  had  shaped 
and  shattered  her  life.  While  she  lived  our  intercourse 
with  the  self-exiled  pair  had  been  constant.  Only  the  fact 
that,  as  usual,  the  end  long  expected  came  unex^oectedly, 
prevented  their  standing  beside  her  gi'ave. 

Her  death  gave  General  Fairbanks  a  still  more  uncon- 
querable aversion  to  his  native  land.  In  our  correspondence 
nothing  was  ever  said  as  to  the  ventures  in  which  he  was  en- 
gaged. We  knew  that  comfort  and  even  luxury  surrounded 
them.  A  thousand  evidences  of  luxurious  taste  and  tender 
remembrance  found  their  way  to  Ryalmont.  Strange  flowers 
of  tropical  magnificence  came  to  the  conservatories  that 


316  EiGHTT-NINE. 

stretch  along  tli  liillside  above  the  resting  place  of  the 
hallowed  dead.  ILunmooks  and  awnings  of  cnrious  text- 
ure and  wonderful  vividness  of  coloring  were  scattered 
through  the  grove,  and  the  cjuaint  old  home  became  a 
treasure-house  of  rich  and  rare  decoration. 

As  to  the  source  of  this  wealth  we  asked  no  questions 
and  received  no  information.  Edith  was  content  to  know 
that  her  father  had  retrieved  his  ill  fortune  and  again  con- 
quered financial  success.  She  lived  to  know  that  the  last 
stain  had  been  wijied  from  his  commercial  honor,  and  that 
no  claim  of  loss  by  any  action  of  his  could  be  truthfully 
made  by  any  one.  She  even  lived  to  hear  his  integrity  com- 
mended, and  his  ability  and  indomitable  energy  applauded 
as  an  honor  to  the  nation  whose  spirit  and  enterprise  he  so 
well  represented,  by  those  who  had  so  recently  heaped  re- 
proach upon  his  name.  All  this  is  a  matter  of  common 
fame,  and  I  will  not  dwell  upon  it. 

It  was  not  until  many  years  afterward  that  I  learned 
how  potent  had  been  his  influence  in  shaping  the  forces 
upon  the  action  of  which  recent  events  have  so  greatly  de- 
pended. It  was  known  that  in  the  neighboring  republic 
of  Mexico  there  existed  a  sentiment  bitterly  hostile  to  the 
United  States,  and  yet  keenly  sympathetic  with  Southern 
hopes,  prejudices  and  ideas.  When  the  great  chief  of  the 
Federal  armies  went  there  as  an  envoy  extraordinary,  rep- 
resenting the  capital  and  enterprise  of  the  North,  while  he 
found  himself   received  with  distinguished  honor   in    the 


EIGHTY-NINE.  31 7 

ancient  city  wliicii  he  had  once  entered  as  a  conqueror, 
he  soon  became  aware  of  a  secret,  indefinable  influence 
which  constantly  thwarted  his  plans  and  rendered  abortive 
his  expectations. 

He  did,  indeed,  obtain  concessions  permitting  the  un- 
limited investment  of  capital,  and  conferring  valuable  privi- 
leges; but  w^hen  he  sought  for  guaranties  for  their  protec- 
tion he  was  unable  to  obtain  the  least  favor.  Capitalists 
were  permitted  to  come  and  invest.  They  must  take  the 
chances,  however,  of  the  future  of  the  government.  Everv- 
thing  that  was  gianted  was  revocable,  and  every  conces- 
sion obtained  had  in  it  an  express  relinquishment  of  all 
claim  for  international  interference.  No  loophole  or  pre- 
tence for  national  action  in  regard  to  them  was  left.  They 
were  to  be  Mexican  companies,  subject  to  Mexican  control, 
under  Mexican  laws,  and  liable  to  change  by  Mexican 
authority.  The  boasted  sagacity  of  the  North  found  itself 
not  only  baffled  but  absolutely  overreached  by  a  nation 
it  despised. 

It  is  true  that  these  concessions  were  accepted  as  sat- 
isfactory. The  adventurous  syndicate  which  had  made  the 
great  soldier  their  innocent  instrument  in  what  they  intended 
should  be  a  mighty  scheme  of  international  spoliation  and 
subsequent  conquest,  had  been  too  sure  of  their  prey,  and 
had  invested  too  much  on  the  chances  of  success  to  be  able 
to  retract.  They  simply  changed  their  strategy,  going  on 
and  completing  the  work  agreed   upon,  ti-usting   to    the 


318  EIOHTY-NINE. 

spirit  of  lawless  rapacity  which  infects  the  civilization  of 
which  they  themselves  were  significant  products,  to  sup- 
port and  maintain  their  claims,  even  by  force  of  arms.  It 
was  this  fact  that  led  to  the  systematic  development  of  an 
anti-^[exican  spirit,  not  only  along  the  borders,  but  also 
throughout  the  great  states  of  the  North  and  West.  When 
these  great  combinations  had  fastened  their  clutches  upon 
all  that  was  most  valuable  and  desirable  in  the  weaker 
nation,  they  looked  for  this  spirit  of  conquest  and  absorp- 
tion to  come  to  their  aid  by  overthrowing  the  restrictive 
power  and  making  permanent  and  irrevocable  the  condi- 
tional grants  they  had  received. 

What  tlie  real  power  was  that  foiled  these  expectations 
they  did  not  know  until  long  afterwards. 

Partly  from  a  sense  of  duty  and  partly  as  a  tribute  to 
my  dead  love,  I  began  to  speculate  upon  my  father's  in- 
junctions. Little  by  little  they  became  clearer  to  my 
mind.  During  the  years  when  the  forces  of  civilization . 
were  taking  shape  after  the  disastrous  close  of  tlie  War  for 
Separation,  I  saw  little  hope  for  the  fulfillment  of  liis  de- 
sire. The  South  was  yet  prostrate  under  the  foot  of  a  vic- 
torious foe,  or  seeking  by  shameful  and  unmanly  violence 
and  hateful  conspiracy  to  relieve  herself  from  subjection. 
The  North,  surprised  at  its  own  success,  was  more  over- 
whelmed by  victory  than  it  would  have  been  by  defeat. 
It  would  have  resisted  a  victorious  foe  no  doubt  longer  .and 


EIGHTY-NINE.  319 

more  desperately  than  any  jjeople  ever  did ;  but  what 
to  do  with  a  conquered  enemy  it  could  not  tell. 

Through  years  of  subterfuge  and  vacillation  the  shame- 
ful sj)ectacle  dragged  on.  The  North  would  neither  rule 
che  subjugated  realm  nor  permit  its  people  to  rule  them- 
selves in  their  own  way.  They  j^i'oposed  instead  that  the 
South  should  be  controlled,  not  by  those  who  had  made  its 
history  glorious  nor  according  to  the  traditions  of  her 
people;  Init  that  master  and  former  slave  should  form  an 
equal  partnership,  and  that  both  should  govern  according 
to  Yankee  ideas. 

As  soon  as  the  South  began  to  recover  from  the  pros- 
tration of  wai-,  her  people  were  prompt  to  resist  and  over- 
throw this  weak  and  silly  fabric  of  sentimentality.  They 
declared  that  the  South  had  always  been  "a  white  man's 
government,"  and  mu.^t  always  remain  such.  Unfortu- 
nately the  worst  of  counsels  prevailed.  If  our  people  had 
stood  defensively  upon  this  doctrine,  the  sentiment  of  the 
North  would  no  doubt  soon  have  accorded  to  them  all  they 
asked.  Despite  the  strange  infatuation  which  made  the 
North  the  champion  of  the  freedom  of  the  slave,  the  peo- 
ple of  that  section  had  no  real  interest  in  the  negro  as  a 
man.  They  gave  him  freedom  in  order  to  punish  the  South 
for  rebellion  'and  to  satisfy  the  intellectual  pride  which  had 
so  long  insisted  on  the  absurdity  of  slavery  in  a  nation 
boastful  of  its  liberty.  Tliey  conferred  equal  rights  upon 
him,  not  merely  as  a  further  demonstration  of   the   fact 


320  EIGHTY-NINE. 

that  their  ideas  had  prevailed,  but  also  as  an  affront  to  the 
Avhite  people  who  had  fought  so  long  and  gallantly  in  use- 
less protest  against  notions  so  abhorrent  to  their  traditions. 

Instead  of  waiting  j)atiently  for  this  gross  injustice  to 
right  itself,  the  people  of  the  South,  defiant  of  the  foi-ms 
and  restraints  of  law,  attacked  the  anomalous  alliance  of 
the  North  and  the  negro  in  its  weakest  point.  In  so  doing 
they  showed  the  military  instinct  which  pervades  the 
Avhole  l)ody  of  our  iDeoi)le:  but  needlessly  exposed  them- 
selves to  assault  upon  grounds  well-nigh  fatal  to  their 
hopes.  They  knew  the  negro  was  more  easily  controlled 
by  the  lash  than  in  any  other  manner,  and  so  appealed  to 
the  lash  to  restore  their  suj^remacy. 

It  was  a  foolish  and  unnecessary  defiance  of  an  enemy 
anxious  only  for  the  name  of  victory,  and  very  willing  to 
forego  all  its  substantial  fruits  if  permitted  quietly  to  en- 
joy its  prestige.  At  very  slight  expense  the  same  result 
might  have  been  achieved  by  catering  to  the  jiride  and 
cupidity  of  the  negro  rather  than  to  his  fears.  The  North 
is  so  accustomed  to  the  corrui:)tion  of  the  ballot  by  bribery 
and  cunning  that  she  would  never  have  felt  aggrieved  if 
every  colored  voter  between  the  Potomac  and  the  Rio 
Grande  had  been  bribed  to  vote  against  her  candidates  and 
theories. 

One  of  their  own  writers  has  said  of  this  singular  people, 
that  "'  nothing  but  material  prosperity  has  ever  been 
dreamed  of  by  them  as  a  possible  object  of  national  ambi- 


EIGHTY-NINE  321 

tion."  They  were  anxious  to  get  back  to  their  farms  and 
markets  and  factories,  their  stocks  and  other  forms  of 
legalized  gambling, — the  business  of  money-making.  They 
had  no  more  time  to  give  to  the  negro  and  Jiis  newly  con- 
ferred rights  and  privileges,  and  would  have  been  entirely 
willing  to  have  seen  him  shorn  of  both,  if  it  could  have 
been  done  without  abrading  his  skin  or  shedding  his 
blood.  They  are  singularly  consistent  in  their  non-resist- 
ant ideas,  however.  Individually  or  collectively  they  will 
submit  to  any  sort  of  outrage  so  long  as  it  does  not  touch 
the  person.  No  amount  of  insult  and  hardly  anj^  form  of 
wrong  can  stir  the  Northern  man  to  self-defence  or  personal 
resentment.  One  may  exhaust  the  vocabulary  of  abuse 
upon  him  or  with  entire  impunity  ascribe  any  sort  of  dis- 
honor to  those  he  loves.  Except  in  the  far  \Yest,  he  will  rarely 
raise  his  hand  to  punish  the  aggressor  unless  he  first  feels 
the  sting  of  a  blow — the  smart  of  physical  pain. 

The  same  quality  attaches  to  him  collectively.  Dog- 
matic and  contentious  as  he  certainly  is  in  an  intellectual 
sense,  iwlitically  he  is  the  meanest  and  most  contemptible 
of  forces.  The  people  of  the  North  will  submit  to  wrong 
and  oppression  longer  than  any  people  in  the  Avorld,  if  only 
it  does  not  affect  their  individual  advantage  or  is  not  char- 
acterized by  personal  violence.  If  the  revolution  which 
occurred  at  the  South,  between  1870  and  187G,  had  been 
prudently  managed  so  as  not  to  have  shocked  tlie  pre- 
notions  of  the  North  by  the   appeal  to  physical  violence. 


3-12  EIGHTY- NINE. 

that  strange  people  would  no  doubt  liave  counted  them- 
selves well  rid  of  their  dark-skinned  allies  and  would  gladly 
have  allowed  us  to  shape  their  future  on  the  lines  of  our 
past  traditions. 

While  this  error  did  not  wreck  the  policy  of  non-re- 
sistance it  made  its  further  assertion  at  that  time  a  matter 
of  extreme  difficulty,  although  it  demonstrated  most  con- 
vincingly the  truth  of  my  father's  forecasts.  The  "  Xew 
South,"  which  sprang  up  out  of  the  debris  of  conflict  was  no 
less  distinctively  Southern  than  the  old  one.  Its  lines  were 
obtained  by  a  simple  protraction  of  those  of  its  predecessors. 
It  no  more  resembled  the  Xorth  in  sentiment,  aspiration 
and  character  than  did  the  South  of  1860.  It  subsisted 
under  new  conditions,  and  its  life  had  assumed  new  form, 
but  it  still  reju'esented  the  antipodes  of  Northern  thought 
and  regarded  with  vague  wonder  the  refinements  of  Northern 
sentiment.  This  spirit  was  strengthened  by  the  complete 
success  of  the  revolutionary  methods  adopted.  The  South, 
which  had  been  prostrate  in  defeat,  soon  raised  its  head  in 
triumjih,  its  old  contempt  of  its  antagonist  intensified  by 
unexpected  immunity  from  punishment. 

AVhen,  therefore,  in  1884,  the  Democratic  party  came 
into  power  by  virtue  of  the  undivided  Southern  support,  a 
spirit  was  at  once  developed  which  seemed  to  prohibit  all 
reasonable  anticipation  of  the  result  my  father  had  predicted. 
The  people  of  the  South  for  the  first  time  began  to  realize  the 
advantages  of  their  position  under  the  Federal  compact  as 


EIGHTY-NINE.  323 

modified  by  the  reactionary  legislation  of  tlie  reconstruc- 
tion era.  Politically,  the  negro  was  as  much  a  nonentity 
as  he  had  been  in  the  days  of  slavery.  His  perso]ial  and 
civil  rights  were  as  absolutely  in  the  hands  of 
the  white  people  of  the  South  as  they  had  formerly  been 
under  the  control  of  his  master.  He  was  j)aid  for  his  labor, 
it  is  true;  but  all  the  land,  all  the  factories,  all  the  capital 
were  in  the  hands  of  the  whites.  So  were  the  courts  and 
the  legislatures.  It  was  difficult  to  move  public  opinion  in 
his  favor  while  suspicion  was  awakened  by  his  every  act. ' 
A  single  unguarded  speech  by  a  man  of  color  was  sufficient 
to  call  out  the  power  of  the  county  and  sometimes  was 
thought  to  justify  an  appeal  to  the  governor  and  the  order- 
ing of  a  military  force  to  the  scene  of  anticipated  revolt. 

As  a  political  force,  the  negro  was  nullified  with  an 
ease  that  was  both  laughable  and  incomprehensible  to  one 
not  familiar  with  the  antecedent  condition  of  Southern  life. 
The  North  has  not  yet  been  able  to  understand  it.  The 
result  was  that  the  comparative  political  strength  of  the 
white  po^iulation  of  the  South  was  immensely  increased  by 
the  abolition  of  slavery  and  the  enfranchisement  of  the 
blacks.  Our  people  were  not  slow  to  realize  this  advan- 
tage, and  the  inherent  thirst  for  rulership  wdiich  character- 
izes them  soon  gave  rise  to  an  almost  universal  desire  to 
remain  in  the  Union,  both  as  a  measure  of  self-defence  and 
with  the  idea  of  ruling  and  controlling  the  government,  as 


324  EIGHTY- NINE. 

they  had  done  previous  to  the  outbreak  of  the  War  for 
Separation. 

Tliis  feeling  was  the  chief  obstacle  encountered  in  the 
promotion  of  the  movement  for  peaceable  disruption  and 
seemed  for  a  time  insuperable.  Indeed,  I  am  inclined  to  the 
belief  that  a  display  of  either  reasonable  firmness  or  ordinary 
wisdom  on  the  part  of  the  North  Avould  have  compelled 
me  to  forego  all  hope  of  fulfilling  my  father's  behest. 

As  time  went  on,  I  strove  with  heart  and  lu'ain  to 
answer  truly  and  well  three  great  questions  : 

Can  the  Nation  remain  "one  and  insejmrable '*  for 
any  considerable  period  ? 

Ought  it  to  remain  undivided,  considering  its  various 
elements  and  the  true  interests  of  all  its  people  ? 

Can  it  be  broken  in  tAvain  by  •a\\\ peaceful  means  ? 

I  had  little  difficulty  in  answering  the  first  two  in  the 
negative.  For  many  years  it  seemed  as  if  the  third  must 
be  answered  in  the  negative  also. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

It  was  fortunate  for  our  cause — indeed  it  would  seem 
to  have  been  nothing  less  than  providential — that  the  ef- 
forts of  certain  fanatics  to  have  the  Federal  Government 
appropriate  large  sums  in  aid  of  education  in  the  Southern 
States  did  not  prevail.  The  scheme  was  a  magnificent  effort 
to  induce  that  government  to  do  by  indirection  what  it  ought 
no  doubt  to  have  done  without  any  subterfuge  long  before, 
to-Avit,  make  some  provision  for  alleviating  the  evils  resulting 
from  slavery,  and  made  more  apparent  by  emancipation.  If  it 
had  been  coupled  with  a  proposition  to  pay  even  a  tithe  of 
the  value  of  the  slaves  set  free  by  the  exercise  of  a  doubt- 
ful authority,  I  doubt  if  our  people  would  have  been  able 
to  resist  the  tempting  lure.  As,  however,  the  chief  part 
of  the  benefit  would  inure  to  the  negro,  who  might  thereby 
be  strengthened  and  encouraged  offensively  to  assert  his 
equality  with  the  white  race,  it  was  but  natural  that  the 
controllers  of  opinion  and  manipulators  of  power  at  the 
South  should  set  themselves  against  it. 

From  the  Northern  point  of  view,  it  is  difficult 
to  see  how  the  Federal  Government  could  escape  the  obli- 
gation of  providing  in  some  manner  for  the  education  and 

335 


326  EIGHTY- NINE. 

development  of  the  former  slaves.  As  a  mere  question  of 
pecimiary  justice  it  would  seem  that  a  nation  which  en- 
couraged and  perpetuated  slavery  and  grew  rich  out  of  its 
profits,  in  emancij^ating  the  slaves  ought  to  have  made  pro- 
vision for  their  future.  The  profits  of  their  bondage  had 
inured  quite  as  much  to  the  North  as  to  the  South. 

For  a  hundred  years  slavery  had  crowded  manufactures 
out  of  the  South,  while  the  taritf  provisions  of  the  Federal 
(lovernment  compelled  us  to  buy  all  manufactured  articles 
at  the  sh()})s  of  the  North.  This  was  a  wise  provision  for  the 
nation,  though  in  no  sense  a  profitable  one  for  the  South.  It 
enabled  the  delicate  moral  sense  of  the  North  to  ^^llield  itself 
under  a  film  of  indirection,  so  that  while  they  shared  the 
proceeds  of  our  moral  obliquities  they  Avere  without  ap- 
parent responsibility  therefor.  This  state  of  affairs  exactly 
suited  the  genius  of  this  people  whose  chief  aspirations  are 
to  seem  incomparably  good  and  to  be  thought  incomparably 
rich.  In  the  case  of  the  negro,  a  way  was  found  to  recon- 
cile these  impulses.  Instead  of  providing  for  the  welfare 
of  the  emancipated  slave,  either  materially  or  educationally, 
they  decided  to  confer  on  him  the  ballot.  This 
they  loudly  asserted  to  be  a  priceless  privilege  and  it  had 
the  overwhelming  advantage  of  costing  the  donors  nothing. 
It  was  a  method  of  discharging  such  obligations  character- 
istic with  them  and  much  preferred  to  the  Czar's  foolish 
plan  of  compelling  the  Russian  nobles  to  give  a  portion  ot 
their  estates  to  the  serfs  he  had  freed. 


EIGHTY. NINE.  327 

It  should  in  fairness  be  remembered,  however,  that 
there  was  another  reason  why  the  proposition  to  extend 
national  aid  to  public  education  failed.  As  I  have  said  it 
was  merely  an  indirect  method  of  appropriating  national 
funds  for  the  education  of  the  former  slaves  and  their 
descendants.  Ninety  per  cent  of  the  blacks  were  in  the 
States  of  the  South.  In  eight  of  them,  they  constituted 
twenty  per  cent  of  the  poj)ulation;  in  the  other  eight, 
fifty  per  cent.  In  three  of  these,  they  numbered  two-thirds 
of  the  entire  population.  Of  the  Avhole,  seventy  per  cent 
were  admittedly  illitei'ate, — practically  ninety  per  cent  of 
them  were  profoundly  ignorant.  The  plan  which  was  de- 
vised was  simply  a  scheme  to  give  money  for  the  education 
of  the  negroes  under  pretence  both  of  charity  for  the  whole 
South  and  anxiety  for  the  cure  of  ignorance  everywhere.  It 
was  a  farce.  There  was  no  such  mass  of  ignorance  in  any  State 
of  the  Xoi'th  as  to  require  any  such  remedy,  and  wo  of  the 
South  were  quite  able  to  educate  our  white  illiterates.  It 
was  evident,  therefore,  that  the  real  purpose  was  to  benefit 
the  blacks  especially,  without  appearing  to  have  that  pur- 
pose in  view. 

The  fact  is,  the  North  had  become  ashamed  of  the 
company  it  had  chosen.  While  the  negro  was  a  slave,  it 
suited  its  vague  ideas  of  wholesale  philanthrophy  to  make 
him  a  martyr  and  his  liberation  its  special  mission.  In 
this  it  gloried  and  this  was  the  actual  motive  of  the  war  it 
waged  against  the  Confederacy;  for  in  spite  of  their  boasted 


33S  EIGHTY-NINE. 

practical! U',  they  are  the  most  sentimental  and  unpractical 
people  in  the  world.  In  carrying  on  this  war  they  appealed 
to  the  negro,  then  a  slave,  with  a  tropical  wealth  of  prom- 
ises which  must  have  dazed  even  a  less  fervid  imagination 
than  that  of  the  unfortunate  African.  They  agreed,  not 
only  impliedly  but  explicitly,  to  stand  between  him  and 
his  traditional  and  natural  controllers— oppressors  they 
termed  them — the  whites  of  the  South.  When  the  war 
was  over,  however,  when  the  slave  had  betrayed  his  master, 
had  guided  their  armies,  fed  their  fugutives  and  served 
with  indefatigable  zeal  the  cause  of  the  enemy  ;  when  a 
quarter  of  a  million  of  them  had  offered  their  bodies  as  a 
bulwark  for  their  white  comrades  and  been  accorded  the 
place  of  honor  in  every  assault,  until  their  losses  were  pro- 
portionately greater  than  those  of  any  other  contingent  of 
like  numbers — after  these  things  had  occurred,  the  North 
became  ashamed  of  its  allies.  In  the  day  of  triumph  these 
were  thrust  into  the  background  and,  as  time  passed  on, 
were  year  by  year  more  and  more  sedulously  secluded  from 
public  regard.  The  most  unyielding  of  our  Confederate 
chieftains  stood  proudly  about  the  bier  of  Grant,  but  none 
of  those  degenei'ate  sons  of  the  South  who  had  bowed  obse- 
quiously to  his  power,  nor  any  of  those  black  hands  which 
had  done  so  much  to  put  the  laurel  of  victory  on  his  brow 
wore  allowed  to  touch  his  sacred  cerement.  Only  a  few 
colored  grooms  were  permitted  to  lead  the  horses  liarnessed 
to  his  catafalque. 


ElOHTY-NINE.  329 

Snch  things  will  seem  almost  incredible  to  the  historian 
who  hereafter  shall  seek  for  the  causes  of  the  downfall  of 
the  Federal  power,  and  I  cannot  bnt  think  they  were  in- 
dicative of  a  lack  of  moral  stamina  which  had  much  to  do 
with  the  national  decadence.  They  resulted  not  from  any 
failure  to  comprehend  of  the  true  relations  subsisting  be- 
tween the  Nation  and  the  negro,  but  from  two  singular 
characteristics  of  the  Northern  mind,  to  wit  :  the  fear  of 
ridicule  and  the  lack  of  any  sense  of  personal  obligation  not 
of  a  pecuniary  character.  Business  is  the  life  of  its  life, 
and  its  boast  is  that  there  is  no  friendship  in  business.  Its 
philanthropy  is  unbounded,  but  it  is  without  any  sense  of 
gratitude.  The  Northern  man  will  lavish  money  upon  a 
friend  who  does  not  need  it  and  refuse  aid  to  one  who  is  in 
difficulty.  He  prefers  to  give  to  the  poor  rather  than  pre- 
vent one  to  whom  he  owes  the  obligation  of  favor  from  be- 
coming impoverished.  He  prides  himself  upon  his  un- 
selfishness and  imjjartiality.  He  does  no  more  for  his 
friend  than  for  his  foe.  The  ties  of  blood  even  are  little 
regarded.  It  is  an  instinctive  appreciation  of  this  fact 
that  lies  at  the  bottom  of  the  Northern  man's  boast  that 
the  last  person  of  whom  he  would  ask  a  favor  is  one  of  his 
kindred.  He  knows  that  as  a  rule  they  are  the  last  who 
would  grant  him  aid.  It  was  the  negro's  misfortune  both 
to  have  sewed  tliis  curious  people  at  a  critical  period  of 
their  history  and  to  have  sustained  to  them  afterwards  the 
relation  of  "poor  kin," — the  two  relations  of  all   that  could 


330  EIGHTY- NINE. 

exist  which  they  were  the  most  unwilling  to  acknowledge. 

As  I  have  already  said,  the  sense  of  respectability  is 
the  most  potent  impulse  of  Xorthern  life.  The  most 
charitable  and  philanthropic  people  in  the  world,  they  have 
an  unconquerable  aversion  to  rags  and  grime.  They  are 
willing  to  relieve  the  poor — to  give  them  alms,  that  is — but 
they  do  not  want  them  near  except  as  servitors  or  duly 
labeled  samples  of  their  own  charitable  inclinations.  They 
cannot  meet  them,  mingle  with  them  or  admit  them  as 
equals  to  their  life.  1'he  gulf  between  affluence  and  indi- 
gence is  bridged  by  charity,  but  betweeu  superfluity  and 
scantiness  it  is  impassable  and  unfatbonuible.  For  this 
reason  the  Northei-u  man  is  veiy  shy  of  his  associates.  Xo 
man*s  merit  is  great  enough  to  be  visible  under  a  shabby  coat. 

The  negi'o  was  a  most  uncomfortable  protege.  He 
could  not  be  wined  or  dined  to  any  extent.  He  could  not 
be  made  a  lion  in  the  drawing-room  or  a  companion  on  the 
street.  The  North  admitted  its  duty  but  it  could  not  en- 
dure our  gibes.  Even  the  old  taunt  of  "Abolitionist," 
still  had  a  sting.  Her  peoi^le  were  afraid  we 
of  the  South  would  call  them  "negro-lovers"  aud  '^ mis- 
cegenation ists,"  if  they  attempted  openly  to  reward  their 
allies  or  protect  their  friends.  If,  however,  the  people  of 
the  South  could  be  made  co-recipients  of  their  bounty,  the 
sting  would  be  removed.  So  the  bolus  was  shrewdly  con- 
cocted and  some  of  our  people  were  silly  enough  to  swallow 
it ;    but  the  more  far-seeing  apprehended  the  danger  of 


EIGHTY-NINE.  331 

bi'iuging  the  Xatioiial  Goveruuient  nearer  to  our  people  in 
a  beneficent  guise — especially  to  that  moiety  of  our  popula- 
tion who  were  of  the  colored  race.  To  educate  them  was 
evidently  to  increase  their  power  of  resistance  to  the  white 
man's  control  and  so  provoke  unnecessary  conflict.  These 
raised  the  cry  of  pauperization.  It  Avas  an  attempt  on  the 
part  of  Northern  zealots,  they  said,  to  pauperize  and  degrade 
the  people  of  the  South.  With  its  usual  subserviency  the 
greater  portion  of  the  press  of  the  jSTorth  caught  up  and  re- 
peated this  cry,  all  the  more  readily  no  doubt  as  it  offered 
a  way  out  of  the  dilemma,  whereby  they  might  excuse  their 
inaction  and  at  the  same  time  save  their  ducats.  "While 
they  would  gladly  have  done  full  Justice  to  the  negro  the 
South  requesting  and  assenting,  yet  they  would  rather 
abandon  their  former  allies  than  face  the  sneers  of  their 
former  foes.  Such  a  feeling  is  almost  incomj^rehensible  to 
a  Southern  man,  but  these  singular  people  think  all  the 
world  is  animated  by  the  same  whimsical  motives. 

All  this  was  made  the  more  manifest  by  the  fact  that 
the  people  of  the  North  as  individuals  had  recognized  their 
obligation  to  the  negro  in  an  unprecedented  manner.  In 
the  twenty  years  succeeding  the  surrender  of  the  Confed- 
erate armies  they  had  contributed  individually  not  far 
from  twenty  millions  of  dollars  for  education  at  the  South, 
principally  among  the  colored  people.  This,  however, was  but 
an  evasion  of  the  public  duty  which  rested  on  the  people  and 
the  party  that  during  all  that  time  held  control  of  the  Fed- 


332  EIGHTY. NINE. 

ederal  Government.  The  oiDportimity  passed,  and  after  a 
qftarter  of  a  century  the  colored  peojile  lost  confidence,  not 
in  the  future,  but  in  their  professed  friends,  and  turned  to- 
ward those  allied  to  them  by  nativity  and  oftentimes  by  blood, 
as  not  only  the  natural  but  the  only  possible  promoters  of 
their  future  prosperity  and  safety. 

The  Cadets  of  tlie  Order  of  the  Southern  Cross  were 
the  result  of  this  tendency  on  the  part  of  the  more  intelli- 
gent and  patriotic  of  the  colored  people.  They  were  not 
many,  as  it  was  necessary  to  move  very  slowly  in  tliis  di- 
rection. Besides,  there  are  not  many,  and  will  not  l)e  for 
generations,  who  are  worthy  of  such  exaltation.  It  is  by 
no  means  certain  that  the  blacks  will  ever  as  a  people 
reach  tbe  present  level  of  the  whites  ;  but  whatever  pro- 
gress the  race  is  capable  of  achieving  must,  no  doubt,  be 
made  under  careful  supervision  and  restraint.  It  is  possi- 
ble that,  in  some  far  future,  the  colored  race  may  be  safely 
and  properly  admitted  to  that  equality  of  power  in  the  gov- 
ernment which  the  later  Amendments  of  the  Federal  Con- 
stitution foolishly  and  vainly  sought  to  confer,  and  from 
which  the  people  of  the  North  expected  miraculous  results 
without  providing  instruction,  protection  or  encourage- 
ment for  the  weak  and  ignorant  whom  it  thus  enticed  into 
a  perilous  experiment.  In  nothing  has  the  wisdom  of  what 
has  recently  occurred  been  so  thoroughly  exemj^lified  as  in 
the  good  order,  peace  and  contentment  of  the  colored 
people  since   the   establishment   of   the  new  government. 


EIGHT  Y-  NINE.  333 

They  realize  that  their  time  has  not  yet  fully  come  and  are 
willing  to  wait  until  it  does — it  may  be  a  century;  it  may 
be  a  cycle.  They  have  gained  much.  Their  freedom  is 
secure.  Their  most  important  civil  rights  are  recognized. 
Others  will  follow  ;  but  time  alone  cures  the  evils  which 
grow  out  of  untoward  destiny. 

All  these  things  contributed  to  the  success  of  our 
plans.  The  people  of  the  Xorth,  conscious  of  injustice  to 
the  negro,  yet  unwilling  to  recognize  him  as  a  co-ordinate 
in  political  power  (though  they  had  been  ready  enough  to 
thrust  him  on  the  people  of  the  South  as  such)  were  in 
reality  very  glad  to  be  thus  easily  rid  of  their  troublesome 
protege  who  had  ceased  to  be  interesting  as  soon  as  he  be- 
came free.  They  were  glad  enough,  therefore,  to  accept 
the  representations  of  some  few  hundred  Cadets  as  really 
the  voice  of  their  race,  and  having  thus  eased  their  con- 
sciences, they  felt  little  inclined  to  carry  resistance  to  our 
demand  to  extreme  lengths,  but  with  creditable  unanimity 
exclaimed,  after  a  little  decorous  remonstrance  : 

"  Oh,  let  them  go  I  The  South  is  always  stirring  up 
trouble  anyhow.  Let  them  go  and  fight  it  out  with  each 
other  ! " 

This  feeling  was  greatly  strengthened  by  the  prevail- 
ing idea  that  the  South  would  still  be  dejiendent  on  the 
North  for  its  manufactured  products.  They  did  not  seem 
to  realize  that  we  would  import  capitalists  and  manufac- 
turers instead  of  their  wares.     In  framing   the  "  Articles 


334  EIGHTY- NINE. 

of  Separation,"  they  only  insisted  that  in  regard  to  exports 
and  imports  they  should  always  be  on  the  footing  of  "  the 
most  favored  nation,"  deeming  themselves  well  able  to  com- 
pete with  any  foreign  power  on  that  basis,  as  no  doubt  they 
are.  Long  before  the  imposition  of  our  recent  tariff,  how- 
ever, which  was  purposely  made  peculiarly  favorable  to  our 
sister  republic,  it  was  estimated  that  more  than  two  hundred 
million  dollars  of  Northern  capital  had  come  across  the 
border  to  take  advantage  of  such  an  unprecedented  oppor- 
tunity for  manufacturing  investment.  Men  of  northern 
birth  will  no  doubt  be  our  chief  mechanical  producers  for 
many  years  ;  but  their  wares  will  be  Southern  manufactures. 
This  is  one  of  the  chief  advantages  the  South  derives  from 
separation  —a  development  of  her  resources  to  supply  her  own 
markets.  It  brings  to  us.  too,  the  very  cream  of  Northern 
life — her  successful  manufacturers  and  capitalists.  The 
privilege  of  supplying  a  market  of  twenty  millions  of  people, 
wisely  protected  against  foreign  comj^etition  by  a  universal 
patriotic  sentiment,  is  one  that  does  not  often  present  itself 
to  commercial  enterprise. 

The  North  saw  too  late  what  they  had  lost:  but  their 
most  sagacious  manufacturers  perceived  at  once  how  much 
might  be  gained  by  removal  hither.  While  the  shops  of  New 
England  are  running  on  half-time,  those  of  the  new  re- 
public find  the  day  all  too  short  to  supply  the  demand  for 
their  wares.  As  a  result  it  is  believed  that  the  wealth  of 
the  South  will  be  doubled  within  a  decade.  Such  are 
the  fruits  of  patriotic  patience  and  outspoken  sincerity  I 


CHAPTER   XXXrV. 

"  This  is  the  most  glorious  Easter  since  Christ  rose 
from  the  dead  !  " 

Thus  shouted  an  impassioned  orator,  and  the  heaving 
multitude  responded  with  the  shrill,  wavering  cry  whose 
plaintive  cadences  had  so  often  been  the  prelude  and 
herald  of  victory.  Twenty-one  years  had  elapsed  since  the 
land  had  echoed  with  the  thunders  of  Federal  triumph, 
since  the  flag  of  an  extinct  nationality  had  been  folded 
away  and  the  South  had  bowed  her  neck  to  the  conqueror's 
yoke.  Proudly  and  haughtily,  yet  without  oj^en  defiance, 
she  had  obeyed  the  mandate  of  her  hereditary  foe.  Out 
of  the  wreck  of  conflict  the  genius  of  her  sons  had  saved 
more  than  they  had  ever  hoped  to  recover  when  the  knell 
of  hope  was  sounded  and  the  pall  of  despair  cast  about  the 
bier  of  the  Confederacy.  The  sons  of  those  who  shed 
their  blood  in  her  behalf  had  grown  up  to  manhood  ;  new 
States  had  been  builded  on  the  soil  of  the  old,  and  a  new 
form  of  society  was  struggling  for  a  precarious  existence 
amid  the  fragments  of  a  shattered  civilization. 

For  the  first  time  since  the  sun  of  Appomattox  set  in 
blood  and  lamentation,  the  children  of  the  South  met  to 
greet  and  honor  the  chief  of  the  Confederacy.     Xature 

335 


336  EIGHTY. NINE. 

had  hidden  the  footsteps  of  war.  The  battlements  were 
up-grown  with  verdure,  and  the  plow  passed  unheeded 
back  and  forth  where  the  cannon  had  belched  fortli  its 
fateful  flame.  The  Queen  City  of  the  South  had  given 
way  to  one  grander  still.  Even  the  lone  chimneys  that 
marked  the  path  of  the  destroyer's  hordes  had  almost  dis- 
appeared. A  new  era  had  come.  Yet  the  old  was  not 
dead. 

The  quarter  of  a  century  which  lay  between  the  in- 
auguration of  the  President  of  the  Confederacy  and  his 
first  return  to  the  scene  of  his  exaltation,  was  unquestion- 
ably tlie  most  remarkable  that  the  world  has  ever  known. 
The  conflict  which  followed,  notable  enough  in  its  charac- 
ter— the  heroic  attempt  of  eight  millions  of  freemen  to  cre- 
ate a  new  empire  and  at  the  same  time  defend  it  against  the 
assault  of  three  times  their  number,  armed  with  the  power  and 
prestige  of  organized  and  established  government 
was  as  nothing  in  comparison  with  the  events  which 
followed.  A  civilization  which  was  the  growth  of  two 
hundred  and  fifty  years  had  been  swept  away  and  the  forms 
of  another  distinct  and  contrasted  development  were  imposed 
upon  a  conquered  people,  who  were  then  restored  to  power 
and  expected  to  operate  successfully  the  strange  machinery 
so  foreign  to  all  their  preconceptions,  so  hostile  to  all  their 
cherished  ideas. 

The  result  was   both  amazing  and   ridiculous.     The 


EIGHTY-NINE.  337 

new  forms  remained  undisturbed,  but  the  old  ideas  reas- 
serted their  power.  Slavery  was  destroyed,  but  subordina- 
tion remained.  The  freedman  was  a  voter,  but  the  white 
man  controlled  him  in  the  exercise  of  the  power  of  the 
citizenship.  Force  and  fraud  and  terror  had 
deprived  the  system  imposed  by  force  of  all  its 
vitality.  Even  the  forms  of  law  themselves  were  invoked 
to  defeat  the  purposes  of  law.  The  slave  had  served  his 
master  with  his  hands.  The  freedman  yielded  to  the 
dominant  race  the  power  a  victorious  enemy  had  vested  in 
him,  to  exercise  as  suited  their  good  pleasure.  The  North 
was  disgusted  and  astounded  at  the  result  of  its  philan- 
thropic experiment.  The  South  exulted  in  its  triumph 
and  laughed  at  the  curious  confusion  of  its  ancient  enemy. 
"  Reconstruction  "  became  a  byword  of  reproach  to  its  pro- 
moters and  of  exultation  to  its  intended  victims.  What 
was  meant  to  be  tolerance  and  mercy  came  to  be  regarded 
as  tyranny  and  oppression.  Those  who  were  at  first  stig- 
matized as  "rebels''  and  ^•'traitors"  posed,  even  in  the 
eyes  of  their  triumphant  enemies,  as  patriots  and  martyrs. 
So,  after  twenty  years  of  waiting,  the  South  was 
"again  in  the  saddle."  Her  influence  in  the  nation  was 
again  dominant ;  her  interests  were  still  distinct,  and  her 
counsels  even  more  undivided  than  ever  before.  Though 
using  the  name  of  a  national  party,  the  South  was  solidly 
''Southern  "  rather  than  solidly  Democratic.  Politically 
there  was  no  division  of  sentiment.    Every  governor,  every 


338  EIGHTY-NINE. 

judge,  every  senator  save  one  or  two,  every  representative 
in  Congress  save  five,  evei-y  State  officer,  almost  every 
county  officer,  the  mayor  and  police  of  every  city,  more 
than  nine-tenths  of  the  inferior  magistracy  and  the  inferior 
administrative  judicial  officers;  at  least  four-fifths  of  the 
white  population,  and  probably  a  still  greater  proportion 
of  the  Avealtli  and  intelligence  of  this  region — all  these 
were  what  was  well  termed  "  Southern  "  in  every  impulse 
and  motive.  They  were  Democratic  simply  because  that 
party  was  deemed  favorable,  not  so  much  to  Southern  in- 
terests as  to  Southern  sentiment. 

Even  after  the  downfall  of  the  Confederacy  our  peo- 
ple had  retained  the  instincts  of  loyalty  to  its  sentiments, 
traditions  and  martyrs.  The  heroes  of  that  conflict  were 
the  heroes  of  its  civil  life.  To  those  who  defended  it  on 
the  battlefield  it  intrusted  its  destiny  in  peace,  with  un- 
•flinching  confidence  in  their  fealty.  Into  the  halls  of  Con- 
gress it  sent  the  soldiers  who  had  upl)orne  its  flag ;  and 
into  the  seats  of  honor  and  emolument,  throughout  its 
whole  extent,  it  inducted  those  who  had  been  faithful  to 
its  behest  in  the  hour  of  peril  and  humiliation.  The  South 
was  indeed  "'in  the  saddle"  throughout  all  that  region 
over  which  the  ''Stars  and  Bars"  had  spread  their  conse- 
crating folds,  while  in  the  national  government  she  exer- 
cised precisely  the  same  percentage  of  authority  as  before 
the  attempt  to  break  the  bonds  that  bound  her  to  an  un- 
sympathetic, if  not  hostile,  yoke-fellow. 


EIGHTY-NINE.  339 

This  power  it  exercised  with  far  greater  unanimity 
than  it  had  ever  done  before.  But  would  this  predomi- 
nance be  permanent  ?  Once  she  had  controlled  the  exer- 
cise of  national  authority  for  a  generation.  Could  she  do 
so  again  ?  This  was  the  question  our  wisest  and  best  were 
asking  themselves.  It  is  said  that  blood  makes  a  very 
strong  cement,  and  the  sentimentalists  of  the  North  were 
never  tired  of  boasting  how  much  stronger  the  Union  would 
be  after  it  had  been  cemented  with  blood.  Our  people  at 
the  South  did  not  deny  this  ;  but  it  was  a  conundrum 
many  of  them  tried  in  vain  to  solve.  Why  the  blood  of 
our  heroes,  shed  in  a  futile  attempt  to  sunder  this  relation, 
should  tend  to  increase  its  strength  was  a  question  vrhich 
only  the  metaphysical  acumen  of  the  North  could  solve. 
Yet  for  a  long  time  there  was  no  sign  of  weakness — no  vis- 
ible lesion. 

"  This  is  the  most  glorious  day  since  Christ  rose  from 
the  dead  ! "  repeated  the  impassioned  orator,  trembling 
with  excitement  as  he  spoke.  Beside  him  stood  a  slender 
figure,  pallid  and  gray,  showing  the  v/eakness  of  age  in 
every  gesture,  yet  with  something  left  of  that  graceful 
pride  which  marked  his  mien  when  he  took  the  oath  of  of- 
fice, while  the  cannon  thundered  and  a  new  nationality  was 
born,  a  quarter  of  a  century  before.  The  shrill  tremor  of 
the  ''Rebel  yell"  our  enemies  learned  so  well  to  dread, 
rose  again  on  the  air.     The  early  summer  sunshine  was 


340  EIGHTY- NINE. 

clouded  with  the  heavy,  acrid  powder  smoke,  while  the 
morning  air  palpitated  with  the  echo  of  the  welcoming 
guns.  Gray-bearded  men  shouted  and  wept.  Hot  tears 
flowed  down  the  matrons'  cheeks.  Maidens  waved  their 
handkerchiefs,  while  flushed  face  and  flashing  eye  told 
their  exultant  joy.  Young  men  shrieked  themselves 
hoarse  in  greeting  to  the  leader  at  whose  command  their 
fathers  had  gone  forth  to  die.  Around  the  leader  stood  the 
veterans  of  the  army  of  which  he  had  been  the  official  head — 
maimed  and  whole,  officers  and  privates — their  hearts 
swelling  with  unutterable  memories  of  the  days  of  battle 
and  victory,  of  trust  in  the  new  nation's  future  and  sorrow 
in  its  overthrow.  The  "  Stars  and  Bars,"  after  twenty 
years  in  hiding,  flashed  forth  into  the  light,  and  the  multi- 
tude redoubled  the  fierce  acclaim. 

''Glorious  day Christ resurrection dead  !" 

shrieked  the  frantic  orator  in  half-intelligible  staccato.  A 
people  were  greeting  the  incarnation  of  their  thought — the 
one  martyr  of  their  cause,  which,  though  accounted  ''lost," 
must  forever  be  loved  !  Since  the  American  Colonies  were 
founded  no  such  ovation  had  ever  been  offered  within  their 
limits  to  living  man  or  dead  hero  as  that  which  greeted  the 
aged  President  of  the  Confederacy  in  his  triumphal  proces- 
sion through  the  two  greatest  States  of  the  South. 

Why  was  it  ?  The  cause  he  had  represented  had 
failed.  The  war  waged  under  his  direction  had  impover- 
ished the  entire  people.     The  negro,  whose  enslavement  it 


EIGHTY-  NINE.  341 

had  been  fought  to  perpetuate,  because  of  it  had  been  made 
free.  On  all  that  had  been  undertaken  under  his  auspices 
hung  the  corroding  rust  of  failure.  As  the  administrative 
head  of  the  Confederacy,  there  was  little  in  his  history  to 
appeal  to  pride ;  as  the  commander-in-chief  of  her 
armies,  his  interference  with  the  plans  of  his  subordinates 
had  been  an  almost  certain  presage  of  disaster.  There  are 
many,  even  of  our  foes,  who  believe  that  if  the  civil  admin- 
istration of  the  Confederacy  had  been  a  par  with 
its  military  achievements,  the  bright  banner  would  never 
have  kissed  the  dust.  As  a  man,  Jefferson  Davis  was  by 
no  means  worthy  of  the  veneration  offered  him.  As  an 
official,  his  record  was  marked  by  incapacity  and  vacilla- 
tion, and  his  subsequent  life  by  evasive  and  querulous  ac- 
cusation of  his  subordinates. 

Why  did  this  man's  coming  make  the  day  "the 
most  glorious  since  Christ  rose  from  the  dead  "  and  impel 
a  people  to  give  him  a  welcome  never  before  accorded  to 
any  ?  Flowers  lay  thick  along  the  path  he  had  come, 
their  petals  crushed  by  his  carriage  like  bleeding  hearts 
beneath  the  chariot  wheels  of  Juggernaut.  Children  lined 
the  way  chanting  his  praise.  Mothers  leaned  over  the 
heads  of  their  offspring  to  catch  a  sight  of  the  face  which 
loved  ones,  now  dead,  had  pictured  for  them  in  the  days  of 
hopefulness.  The  schools  were  empty,  and  their  bells 
joined  the  exultant  clangor  that  rang  from  all  the  city's 
spires.     Even  the  children  from  the  colored  schools  were 


342  EIGHTY-NINE. 

there,  bearing  floral  offerings  and  gazing  with  wide-eyed 
wonder  at  the  man  who  represented  the  cause  which  meant 
their  continued  enslavement.  And  with  them  were  their 
teachers,  too — IS^orthern  born  men  and  women — who  for 
the  sake  of  their  daily  bread  graced  the  Southern  leader's 
triumioh.  What  did  this  spontaneous  ovation  mean  ?  It 
meant  that  the  Southern  people  were  free  again  to  do 
honor  to  the  one  martyr  for  their  cause.  The  marks  of  the 
shackles  were  upon  his  wrists  !  The  curse  of  exclusion 
rested  upon  his  brow  I  In  his  native  land  he  was  an  exile 
— the  one  man  punished  for  a  pcojjle  s  fault  ! 

No  wonder  they  wept !  No  wonder  they  shouted  ! 
No  wonder  the  heavens  throbbed  with  multitudinous  ac- 
claim !  A  people  who  had  risen  triumphant  from  defeat; 
a  people  who  had  transformed  the  conqueror's  lash  into 
the  scepter  of  victory;  a  people  who  for  a  score  of  years 
had  spoken  only  with  bated  breath  of  the  glorious  days  en- 
shrined in  their  memories — such  a  people  offered  honor  and 
sympathy  and  gratitude  to  the  one  man  who  had  suffered 
in  a  felon's  cell  for  their  transgression  I  Xo  wonder  the 
fervid  orator  could  think  of  nothing  but  the  primal  Easter 
morning  as  he  looked  upon  that  sea  of  upturned  faces  and 
felt  beside  him  the  trembling  form  of  that  martyr  to  faith 
that  would  not  die,  who  for  twenty-four  years  had  slept  in 
the  sepulchre  of  unjust  oblivion  ! 

It  was  this  spectacle  that  banished  doubt  and  brought 
inspiration.     From  that  day  my  life  was  transformed  from 


EIGHTY-NINE.  343 

one  of  patient,  hopeless  waiting  to  one  of  confident,  un- 
resting effort.  That  night  tlie  Order  of  the  Knights 
of  the  Southern  Cross  was  formed.  The  venerable  Presi- 
dent of  the  Confederacy  held  the  hilt  of  my  father's 
sword  while  a  hundred  fervent  young  patriots  kissed  with 
reverent  lips  the  blade.  Ah  !  many  thousands  have  kissed  it 
since,  and  not  one  has  proven  recreant  to  the  oath  thus 
solemnly  attested. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

The  Indian  jugglers  make  a  tree  grow  from  a  seed 
while  the  spectator  stands  gazing  in  wonder  at  the  spread- 
ing leaf,  the  springing  buds,  the  unfolded  flower,  and  be- 
fore he  can  recover  from  his  surprise  the  necromancer 
hands  to  him  the  perfect  fruit,  plucked  before  his  eyes 
from  the  branches.  It  is  said  that  one  Avho  has  witnessed 
the  marvel  of  necromantic  skill  feels  forever  after  doubt- 
ful whether  an  hour  or  an  age  elapsed  while  he  watched 
and  wondered. 

Not  less  marvelous  to  me  was  the  growth  of  the  new 
Order.  I  had  planted  the  seed  half-unconsciously,  hardly 
expecting  any  fruitage  and  anticipating  at  least  a  life- 
time of  delay.  But  events  spring  rapidly  when  the 
soil  is  well  prepared,  and  the  blood  of  our  fathers  had  not 
sunk  into  the  earth  in  vain.  Their  cause  had  failed,  but 
their  holy  teachings  had  fallen  on  willing  ears  and  found 
lodgment  in  earnest  hearts.  The  long  fallow  had  not  been 
unfruitful.  The  sons  had  not  only  inlierited  their  fathers' 
devotion,  but  had  learned  wisdom  from  the  lessons  which 
their  fathers'  failure  taught.  They  were  ready  for  the 
new  dispensation  of  liberty  which  had  come  from  the  last 
344 


EIGHTY-NiyE.  345 

blood-stained  field  of  the  great  War  for  Separation.     They 
were  ready  to  believe  that 

"  Peace  hath  her  victories  no  less  renowned  than  war," 

So,  even  while  I  wondered  at  my  own  audacity  in  plant- 
ing the  seed  at  all,  the  tree  sprang  up  and  over-shadowed  me 
with  its  branches.  Before  another  sunset  came  a  thou- 
sand lips  had  pressed  the  war-worn  blade;  before  the  moon 
had  waxed  and  waned  again  the  iron  cross  with  its  white 
stars  flashed  on  manly  bosoms  in  every  State  hallowed  by 
the  blood  of  Confederate  heroes.  In  less  than  a  year  the 
names  of  half  a  million  knights  were  on  its  muster-rolls. 
Before  yet  another  twelve-mouth  had  passed  three-fourths  of 
all  the  white  men  of  the  South  were  numbered  among  its 
members,  and  nearly  half  the  youths  between  the  ages  of 
fifteen  and  twenty  were  enthusiastic  novitiates. 

Much  speculation  has  been  indulged  in  with  regard  to 
the  origin  and  character  of  the  Order,  and  I  have  been 
greatly  praised  and  gi'eatly  blamed  for  the  part  I  took 
in  its  establishment  and  dissemination.  As  has 
been  seen,  its  origin  was  due  to  accident  rather  than  de- 
sign. I  was  made  its  first  Commander.  Indeed,  until  its 
funeral  rites  have  been  performed  about  my  bier  I  shal] 
be  its  only  head. 

After  that,  if  my  wishes  are  regarded  by  my  brethren, 
the  Companions  of  the  Order,  as  I  trust  they  may  be,  it 
will   be  forever  dissolved.     I  do  not  say  this  that  I  may 


346  EIGHTY-NINE. 

have  the  honor  of  having  been  its  sole  Grand  Master, 
though  I  confess  I  should  j^rize  such  honor  very  highly,  but 
because  I  am  thoroughly  satistied  that  however  valuable 
such  organizations  may  be  in  the  formative  period  of  a 
nationality,  when  that  has  passed  and  questions  of  policy 
and  administration  begin  to  arise  on  which  individual 
opinions  may  differ  and  personal  interests  may  clash,  they 
are  not  only  of  doubtful  value  but  actually  i^erilous  to  the 
public  peace.  The  Knights  of  the  Southern  Cross  have 
done  their  work.  Our  native  land  has  taken  her  place 
among  the  nations  of  the  earth.  Henceforth  her  destiny 
is  in  her  own  hands,  and  depends  upon  the  wisdom  and 
justice  of  her  people  as  expressed  through  their  chosen  rep- 
resentatives. It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  any  people  will 
always  be  free  from  the  malign  forces  of  ambition,  or  that 
honor  will  always  animate  the  hearts  of  their  leaders.  I 
trust,  however,  that  there  will  be  no  unnecessary  oppor- 
tunity offered  to  the  ambitious  leader  or  the  crafty  con- 
spirator, and  that  the  instrument  which  was  employed  to 
create  the  new  Eepublic  will  never  be  the  weapon  used  to 
destroy  it.  Such  extraordinary  combinations  of  individu- 
als are  adapted  to  do  good  only  at  extraordinary  times. 
The  crisis  for  which  the  Southern  Cross  arose  has  passed. 
I  would  fain  believe  that  its  setting  light  may  shine  upon 
my  grave  and  that  its  starry  cross  may  be  preserved  only  as 
the  glorious  emblem  of  our  bloodless  victory. 

To  say  that  I  have  devoted  myself  to  the  extension 


EIGHT  Y-  NINE.  347 

aud  establisliment  of  the  Order  is  only  to  aver  that  I  have 
fulfilled  the  mission  of  my  life.  As  reverently  as  He  who 
sorrowed  in  Gethsemaue  do  I  believe  that  "for  this  thing 
came  I  into  the  world."'  If  I  have  been  unselfishly  de- 
voted to  its  jjrosperity  and  success,  I  have  only  done  my 
duty. 

But  let  me  not  even  by  implication  claim  too  much. 
With  all  the  advantages  in  its  favor  it  is  doubtful 
if  the  Order  of  the  Southern  Cross  would  have  spread 
so  marvelously  or  have  attained  its  purpose  with 
such  remarkable  facility  had  not  an  unknown  ally  myste- 
riously upstayed  my  hands.  Until  that  time  the  estate  left 
me  by  my  sainted  wife  had  been  untouched.  I  used  it 
freely  to  promote  the  interests  of  the  Order.  When  this 
fund  was  nearly  exhausted  I  was  notified  that  a  large  sum 
had  been  deposited  to  my  credit  in  one  of  our  banks.  I 
sought  in  vain  to  discover  whence  it  came.  The  donor  had 
taken  good  care  to  conceal  his  identity.  The  deposit  was 
always  m  the  form  of  Bank  of  England  drafts  to  my  credit, 
and  "the  old  woman  of  Threadueedle  street"  never  bab- 
bles the  secrets  of  her  patrons.  In  the  grim  silence  of  her 
walls  the  clue  was  lost.  Yet  from  that  hour  my  account 
was  like  the  widow's  cruse  of  oil,  in  that  it  never  failed. 
First  and  last,  the  sum  which  came  from  this  mysterious 
source  was  immense,  and  yonder,  in  those  volumes  of  stubs, 
each  of  which  represents  a  check  drawn  for  the  good  of 
our  cause,  is  the  record  of  my  stewardship.     I  knew  noth- 


348  EIGHl  T-I^INE. 

ing  of  the  souroe  of  this  supply  until  I  learned  it  from  my 
mother's  lips  when  she  came  to  my  bedside  clad  in  the 
weeds  of  her  second  widowhood. 

The  organization  of  the  Order  of  the  Southern  Cross 
was  of  the  simplest  character.  Its  purpose  was  undoubt- 
edly revolutionary,  but  it  aimed  at  revolution  by  legitimate 
and  peaceful  means. 

The  Federal  Government  is  organized  upon  a 
singular  principle.  Undoubtedly  intended  to  be  national 
in  character,  its  powers  Avere  so  restricted  as  to  permit  the 
utmost  liberty  of  thought  and  action  uj^on  the  part  of  its 
people,  even  so  far  as  regarded  its  own  maintenance  and 
continuation.  Rebels  themselves,  its  founders  had  more 
than  once  been  in  pei'il  of  life  and  limb  from  constructive 
treason.  They  knew  tliat  the  form  of  government  they 
were  devising  was  not  perfect,  and  desired  to  put  no  obsta- 
cle in  the  way  of  needed  change.  They  provided  in  the  Con- 
stitution, therefore,  that  no  action  or  utterance  should  be  ac- 
counted treasonable,  except  the  actual  levying  of  war  against 
the  Government.  It  might,  indeed,  punish  sedition;  which, 
however,  could  only  be  construed  to  be  a  violent  interference 
with  the  piiblic  peace  or  counseling  armed  resistance  to 
its  authority.  Under  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States,  therefore,  it  was  perfectly  laAvful  to  support,  coun- 
sel and  advise  any  conceivable  change  in  the  form  or  char- 
acter of  the  Government,  or  even  the  disruption  of  the  Union 
hy  penceabh  means. 


EIGHTY-NINE.  349 

This  is  precisely  what  the  Order  sought  to  accomplish.  It 
advocated  peaceful  revolution.  There  had  already  been 
three  attempts  on  the  part  of  the  South  to  escape  from  the 
control  of  the  Federal  Government.  It  is  a  notable  fact  that 
none  of  these  looked  to  a  subversion  of  that  Gov'ernment  or  a 
usurpation  of  its  powers.  This  fact  alone  deprived 
these  attempts  of  a  strictly  revolutionary  aspect.  The  peo- 
ple of  the  South  have  never  been  the  enemies  of  republican 
government.  On  the  contrary,  they  have  been  its  truest 
and  staun chest  supporters.  Even  in  the  hour  of  their 
sorest  extremity,  when  confidence  in  Lee  was  unbounded 
and  in  Davis  well-nigh  destroyed,  they  did  not  do  as  any 
other  people  would  have  done  in  like  extremity,  give  dic- 
tatorial power  to  the  trusted  general,  but  staunchly  ad- 
hered to  the  constitutional  forms  they  had  established. 
They  did  not  wish  to  conquer,  control  or  subvert  the  Gov- 
ernment of  the  United  States,  but  merely  to  establish  for 
themselves  a  government  better  suited,  as  they  conceived, 
to  their  local  needs,  leaving  the  Federal  Union  intact  as 
far  as  those  to  whose  conditions  it  was  still  adapted  were 
concerned. 

The  first  of  these  attempts,  known  as  Nullification, 
simply  asserted  the  paramount  sovereignty  of  the  State 
within  its  own  limits  by  denying  the  validity  and  threaten- 
ing to  resist  the  enforcement  of  Federal  enactments  by 
State  authority.  This  movement  was  strictly  in  accord- 
ance with  the  political  view  of  the  Constitution  known  as 


350  EIGHTY-NINE. 

the  ''  State  Rights  "  doctrine,  which  regarded  the  Federal 
Union  as  a  voluntary  league  of  constituent  republics  rather 
than  a  consolidated  nationality.  The  movement  failed  in  its 
incipiency.  Thepeo^Dle  of  the  South,  while  approving  the 
doctrine  by  a  large  majority,  did  not  deem  tlie  occasion  one 
of  sufficient  general  importance  to  warrant  an  appeal  to 
arms. 

The  next  attempt  was  that  resulting  in  the  War  for 
Separation.  If  consisted,  in  it:^  hist  analysis,  of  a  denial 
of  the  right  of  the  Government  of  the  United  States  to 
subvert  the  sovereignty  of  a  State — or,  in  other  words,  was 
an  assertion  of  tlie  right  of  the  people  of  a  State  to  elect  their 
own  form  of  government  and  their  own  political  affiliates. 
The  appeal  to  arms  in  su[)port  of  this  theory  resultefl  in 
unprecedented  defeat. 

The  third  was  an  unformulated  assertion  of  the  power 
of  the  people  of  the  State  to  render  inoperative  the  laws  of 
the  United  States,  not  by  denial  of  their  validity  or  by 
seeking  to  impair  their  sanction,  but  by  compelling  those 
in  whose  behalf  they  were  enacted  to  abdicate  and  renounce 
the  rights  intended  to  be  conferred  thereby.  Tlie  chief  of 
these  were  what  seemed  to  the  people  of  the  North  mere 
incidents  of  the  overthrow  of  our  armies,  but  Avhich  were 
regarded  by  the  people  of  the  South  as  subversive  of  our 
civilization  and  society,  as  well  as  inconsistent  with  their 
rights  as  citizens  of  the  several  States.  As  they  could  not 
successfully  resist  the  power  of  the  Nation,  nor  dispute  its 


ElGHTT.NiyE.  35I 

right  to  make  the  negro  a  citizen  and  a  voter,  they  ap- 
pealed to  force  and  terror  to  compel  the  Negro  to  refrain 
from  exercising  the  right  thus  conferred.  The  States  were 
prohibited  by  the  constitutional  amendments  from  restrict- 
ing or  denying  the  rights  conferred  upon  the  colored  man 
by  any  statutory  act,  but  there  was  notliing  to  prevent  its 
being  done  by  voluntary  cooperation  of  the  whites. 

In  this  attempt,  therefore,  they  were  entirely  successful. 
The  million  or  more  of  colored  voters  at  the  South  were  ren- 
dered as  powerless  in  a  political  sense  as  when  they  were 
mere  chattels  in  the  eyes  of  the  law.  This  was  done  by 
means  of  various  allied  secret  associations,  which  came  to 
be  known  under  the  generic  term  of  the  Kuklux  Klan. 
These  kindred  organizations  numbered  more  than  half  a 
million  in  the  different  States  of  the  South.  Their  final 
suppression  was  due  to  the  fact  that  they  had  foolishly 
and  needlessly  infringed  the  laAv  ;  but  the  same  influence 
Avas  continued  and  the  result  perpetuated  by  the 
organization  of  "Rifle  Clubs,"  ''Red  Shirt  Companies," 
and  other  bodies  of  white  men,  who,  without  dis- 
guise or  specific  threat,  deterred  the  inferior  race  from  ex- 
ercising the  rights  conferred  upon  them  by  the  display  of 
overwhelming  force  and  unmistakable  innuendo.  Against 
such  combinations  the  Federal  Government  was 
powerless  to  protect  the  new-made  citizens  to  whom  it 
had  guaranteed  equal  political  privileges  with  the  former 
ruling  class.     By  this  means  the  people  of  the  South  re- 


.352  EIGHT  Y-NIN  E . 

conquered  from  their  conquerors  the  power  to  control  the 
government  and  destiny  of  the  South,  It  was  a  remark- 
able triumph.  They  simply  rendered  the  right  of  suffrage 
a  curse  and  not  a  blessing  to  the  Negro  by  making  the 
security  of  his  person  and  property  dependent  upon  the 
completeness  of  his  surrender  of  the  governing  function  to 
the  white  race.  Even  those  of  the  dominant  race  who  had 
favored  the  conqueror  during  the  conflict  or  counselled  a 
peaceful  submission  to  the  degrading  terms  imposed  upon 
a  subjugated  people  were  put  under  an  irrevocable  ban. 
When  their  power  had  become  so  slight  that  it  might  safely 
be  despised,  they  were  tolerated;  up  to  that  point  they 
Avere  rigidly  proscribed.  Throughout  the  entire  South,  in 
fact,  every  function  of  government  and  the  absolute  con- 
trol of  public  sentiment  were  in  the  hands  of  exactly  the 
same  men  who  would  have  exercised  them  if  the  War  for 
Separation  had  never  occurred. 

This  undivided  and  indivisible  force,  allying  itself 
with  the  Democratic  ])arty  of  the  Xorth,  secured  at  length 
absolute  control  of  the  Federal  Government  and  the  South 
was  once  more  "in  the  saddle."  Thus  the  curious 
spectacle  was  presented  of  the  party  which  had  preserved 
the  Union  from  disruption  excluded  from  its  direction  by 
the  combination  of  the  two  elements  which  had  resisted 
and  opposed  its  course  in  coercing  the  sovereign  States  of 
the  South  to  submit  to  the  yoke  of  Federal  dominion. 

While  it  was  evident  that  this  remarkable  state  of  af- 


EIGHTY-NINE.  353 

fairs  could  not  long  exist,  it  showed,  better  than  anything 
had  ever  done  before,  the  distinctiveness  and  solidarity  of  the 
Southern  people  as  well  as  the  amazing  tenacity  with 
which  they  adhered  to  ideas  and  principles  once  thoroughly 
established  among  them.  It  showed,  too,  a  remarkable 
power  for  organization  and  cooperation  in  matters  of  a 
public  nature — in  other  words,  that  thorough  and  com- 
plete crystallization  of  sentiment  my  father  had  so  clearly 
prevised,  which  is  the  unmistakable  index  of  separate  nation- 
ality. Especially  notable  in  all  these  movements  was  the 
fact  of  loyalty  to  one  another  as  a  popular  sentiment.  No 
Southern  man  was  ever  a  traitor  to  the  South.  During 
the  War  for  Separation  even  those  who  were  lukewarm 
were  looked  upon  with  suspicion,  and  no  subsequent  sub- 
mission to  the  popular  will  was  ever  sufficient  to  restore 
them  to  popular  favor.  In  the  last  of  these  movements 
their  secretive  power  was  especially  revealed  and  tested. 
More  than  half  a  million  of  men  belonged  to  the  secret  or- 
ders mentioned,  and  their  existence  was  well  understood 
by  several  millions  more;  yet  the  whole  power  of  the  Gov- 
ernment was  hardly  able  to  establish  the  general  fact,  and 
very  few  were  ever  convicted  for  participation  in  even 
tbe  most  indiscreet  and  criminal  of  their  acts.  The  peo- 
ple of  the  North  can  never  be  relied  on  to  stand  by  North- 
ern men.  Northern  ideas  or  Northern  interests,  as  such ; 
but  the  South  raises  no  traitors  and  breeds  no  "  dough- 
faces."   It  may  have  enemies,  but  tolerates  no  neutrals. 


354  EIGHTY  yiyE. 

With  these  facts  estubliahed,  it  was  nearly  inipossiu'C 
to  have  erred  iu  the  orgauizatiou  of  the  Order  of  the 
Southern  Cross.  It  was  merely  an  order  of  voluntary 
knighthood,  pledged  to  perpetuate  the  memory  of  South- 
ern heroes,  preserve  the  purity  of  Southern  ideals,  and 
promote  in  every  lawful  manner  the  best  interests  of  the 
Southern  people.  They  were  especially  bound  not  to  take 
up  arms,  nor  counsel,  advise  or  approve  resistance  to  the 
Government  of  the  United  States;  l)ut  to  promote  in  all 
peaceful,  honorable  and  constitutional  methods  the  sepa- 
ration of  the  South  from  the  Federal  Union  as  a  thing  es- 
sential to  the  peace  and  prosperity,  not  only  of  the  South, 
but  of  the  Caucasian  race  in  America.  They  were  bound 
to  do  all  that  might  lawfully  be  done  to  prevent  the  negro, 
or  any  individual  or  party  through  him  or  with  his  coop- 
eration and  assistance,  from  obtaining,  holding  or  exercis- 
ing any  political  power  or  control  in  any  city,  county  or 
State,  or  in  the  Federal  Union,  while  the  South  should  con- 
tinue a  part  thereof.  Beyond  this  the  Order  was  pledged 
to  exert  no  political  influence,  and  to  take  no  political  ac- 
tion. It  had  no  candidates,  held  no  conventions,  and  ex- 
pressed no  preferences  as  betAveen  the  true  sons  of  the 
South. 

Our  Order  was  of  course  secret ;  but  its  organization 
was  so  unique  that  this  statement  gives  no  key  to  its  char- 
acter. Xow  that  its  work  is  accomplished,  I  may  without 
impropriety  indicate  the  mechanism  by  which  it  operated. 


EIGHTY. NINE.  355 

It  had  no  lodges,  camps,  degrees  or  stated  meetings.  Any  five 
members  of  tlie  Order  might  examine,  test  and  initiate  a  new- 
Companion.  They  iiad  only  to  notify  the  Grand  Secretary 
of  the  Order  of  the  name  and  residence  of  the  initiate  and 
the  names  of  the  knights  present  at  his  confirmation. 
On  receipt  of  this  the  Grand  Secretary  forwarded  totlie  new 
member  his  badge,  properly  engraved.  By  this  simple 
means  a  perfect  roster  of  the  organization  was  kept,  show- 
ing at  a  glance  the  exact  number  in  each  county  and  the 
name  and  post-office  address  of  each. 

The  Supreme  Council  was  composed  of  one  member 
from  each  state,  chosen  by  the  Grand  Master.  They  met  only 
on  the  call  of  the  Grand  Master.  No  record  of  their  ac- 
tion was  ever  made.  They  were  known  only  to  each  other, 
the  Grand  Secretary  and  the  Grand  Master.  They  were 
advisers  merely,  the  Grand  Master  taking  all  responsibility 
for  the  acts  of  the  Order;  though  it  is  to  their  wisdom  and 
prudence  that  the  success  of  our  plans  is  chiefly  due. 
I  s])eak  of  these  things  in  the  past  tense.  The  Councillors 
handed  in  their  resignations  on  the  day  of  our  great 
Jubilee,  and  it  was  my  intention  to  have  published  the 
fact,  destroyed  all  the  records,  and  declared  the  Order  dis- 
solved upon  the  next  day.  In  view  of  what  then  occurred, 
I  liave  summoned  the  Council  to  meet  once  more — Avhen  I 
am  dead.     I  trust  it  may  be  for  the  last  time. 

Meetings  of  the  Order  were  as  a  rule  discouraged; 
and  could  not   be   held  without  leave  of  the  Grand  Master 


356  EI  G  II T  7-  NINE. 

except  in  case  of  an  emergency.  I  was  fully  satisfied  that 
frequent  meetings  and  too  cumbrous  an  organization  had 
been  the  bane  of  all  previous  organizations  of  similar  char- 
acter. The  uniform  was  simply  a  short  white  tunic,  very 
full  upon  the  shoulders,  buttoned  at  the  wrist,  bordered 
with  blue  and  belted  with  red.  Its  cost  was  strictly 
limited  to  one  dollar,  so  that  the  poorest  might 
be  as  well  clothed  as  the  richest,  and  the  tendency  to  pomp 
and  extravagance  be  repressed.  There  was  but  one  general 
parade  ordered  until  that  which  was  called  to  celebrate 
the  complete  accomplishment  of  our  purpose.  This  was 
just  previous  to  the  presidential  election  in  1888, 
when  there  were  signs  of  a  determination  on  the  part  of 
the  colored  people  to  oppose  our  purpose  and  precipitate  a 
conflict  of  races  by  insisting  upon  an  independent  exercise 
of  the  power  with  which  they  had  been  legally  clothed. 
This  it  was  found  necessary  to  suppress,  and  a  formal 
parade  was  ordered  at  midnight  in  every  city  and  village  of 
the  South.  As  soon  as  the  hour  had  struck  the  signal  was 
given  on  the  church  bells — three  quick  strokes,  three  times 
repeated — and  silently  and  swiftly  the  Knights  stepped  out  of 
their  Iiomes  and,  two  by  two,  sought  the  appointed  rendez- 
vous— more  than  a  million  white-robed  minute  men  muster- 
ing at  the  same  instant  in  the  villages  of  fifteen  States  !  It 
was  enough.  There  were  no  masks,  no  threats,  no  acts  of 
violence — but  no  colored  man  ever  afterward  projiosed  to 
act  in  opposition  to  the  decrees  of  the  Order.     Indeed, 


EIGHTY-NINE.  357 

very  many  hastened  to  put  themselves  under  our  j)rotec- 
tion  and  guidance,  by  joining  the  corps  of  Colored  Cadets. 
As  membership  therein  was  limited  to  those  who  could 
read  and  write,  or  had  acquired  a  specific  amount  of  prop- 
erty, and  whose  applications  were  approved  by  at  least  a 
hundred  Knights,  it  soon  became  practically  an  order  of  no- 
bility among  them  to  which  the  best  aspired.  To  the  in- 
fluence of  our  Cadets  with  the  people  of  the  North  we  owe 
in  a  very  considerable  measure  the  fact  that  our  great 
object  was  attained,  not  only  without  bloodshed,  but 
without   any  serious   danger  of   conflict. 


CHAPTEE  XXXVI. 

The  credit  of  having  devised  the  plan  by  which  the 
iiutonomy  of  the  Southern  Kepublic  was  finally  secured 
has  been  generally,  but  quite  unjustly,  accorded  to  me.  As 
has  been  seen,  I  was  responsible  for  the  establishment  and 
character  of  the  Southern  Cross,  While  the  Supreme 
Council  has  loyally  supported,  and  in  many  instances  im- 
proved upon  the  plans  of  the  Grand  Master,  it  is  yet  true 
that  it  has  kindly,  and  no  doubt  wisely,  refrained  from 
any  important  modification  of  the  same  which  might  have 
fettered  my  activity  and  imperilled  our  success.  In  the 
ability  to  follow  intelligently  yet  trustfully  a  leader  in 
whom  they  have  confidence  without  interfering  with  or  re- 
vising his  plans,  the  people  of  the  South  undoubtedly  excel 
all  democracies  known  to  history,  offering  in  this  respect  a 
striking  contrast  to  their  congeners  of  the  North. 

Beyond  the  extension,  consolidation  and  general  over- 
sight of  the  work  of  this  Order  and  the  initiation  of  some 
movements  following  upon  th«  success  of  our  plan  to  pre- 
vent an  election  of  President  and  Vice-President  of  the 
United  States,  I  am  not  entitled  to  any  special  credit  for 
the  result.  Singularly  enough  we  are  indebted  for  the  main 
358 


EIGHTY-NINE.  359 

features  of  this  plan  to  one  of  those  singular  loroducts  of 
Northern  life — the  leader,  I  might  almost  say,  the  brain, 
of  our  Northern  allies. 

That  we  had  allies  at  the  North  without  whose  assist- 
ance we  could  not  have  succeeded  is  very  well  known,  as  well 
as  the  fact  that  both  extremes  of  Northern  life — its  wealth 
and  its  poverty — the  Labor  Reformers  and  the  combined 
Monopolists — at  one  time  or  another  cooperated  with  us 
in  our  movement  for  separation.  The  former  have,  indeed, 
openly  alleged  that  the  Order  of  the  Southern  Cross,  or 
rather  I  as  its  rej)resentative,  broke  faith  with  them  in  re- 
gard to  the  election  of  a  President.  The  charge  is  entirely 
without  foundation.  I  did  agree  that  a  sufficient  number 
of  Southern  electoral  votes  should  be  thrown  for  their 
candidate  to  prevent  the  election  of  the  Democratic  nomi- 
nee, a  pledge  which  was  faithfully  redeemed.  It  was  made 
with  the  full  knowledge  and  consent  of  the  Monopolist 
'•'pool,"  and  in  pursnance  of  the  very  plan  suggested  by  its 
head.  Beyond  that  T  held  out  no  inducements  and  the 
Labor  Party  had  no  reason  to  expect  any  farther  assistance 
from  us. 

The  fact  that  I  did  not  disclose  our  alliance  with  their 
special  enemies  does  not  render  me  liable  to  the  charge  of 
duplicity,  since  they  well  knew  that  the  votes  thrown  for 
their  candidates  were  given  not  to  promote  their  interest  but 
our  own.  The  truth  is  that  the  leaders  of  both  these  ele- 
ments were  anxious  that  separation  should  take  place,  pro- 


360  EIQHIY.NINB. 

videcl  only  it  could  be  effected  without  tlieir  direct  and 
visible  support.  The  reasons  for  this,  though  apparent 
enough  at  a  glance,  I  deem  essential  to  my  own  justification 
to  set  forth.  Each  was  aware  that  the  time  was  near  at 
hand  when  there  must  be  a  trial  of  strength  between  them, 
and  each  felt  confident  of  success  in  this  trial,  if  only  the 
doubtful  and  uncertain  element  of  Southern  votes  and 
Southern  influence  could  be  eliminated.  The  labor  ele- 
ment felt  itself  hopelessly  weighted  with  the  eight  millions 
of  weak,  ignorant  and  dependent  colored  laborers  of  the 
South  ;  while  the  Monopolists  dreaded  that  spirit  of  fair 
play  and  an  equal  chance  to  all  which  has  been  so  peculiarly 
characteristic  of  our  Southern  society.  They  felt  that 
associated  capital,  despite  the  prevalent  idea  of  aristocratic 
inclination  among  us,  Avas  hopeless  to  influence  or  control 
the  political  action  of  a  people  impatient  of  all  leadership 
except  that  which  follows  rather  than  prescribes  their  in- 
clination. So  each  of  the  opposing  elements  of  Northern 
life  desired  to  be  rid  of  a  force  possibly  liostile  and  certainly 
unreliable  because  it  was  affected  by  conditions  too  dis- 
similar to  permit  of  thorough  sympathy  with  either. 

Hardly  had  the  existence  and  character  of  our  Order 
become  known,  therefore,  when  I  began  to  receive  overtures 
from  both  these  sources.  Its  simplieitv  and  effectiveness 
awakened  the  distrust  of  the  representatives  of  both.  The 
labor  organizations  of  the  North  were  little  more  than 
clamorous  cabals,  united  by  a  mere  sense  of  individual  ad- 


EIGHTY-NINE,  361. 

vantage  and  likely  to  be  broken  up  whenever  any  clique  or 
faction  conceived  it  to  be  profitable  to  them  as  individuals  to 
withdraw  from  their  control.  In  fact  they  were  only  a  loose 
agglomeration  of  societies  having  a  common  purpose  but  no 
common  method  or  design.  The  excessive  individualism  of 
the  North  in  truth  prevents  all  compactness  and  harmony 
of  association,  since  there  is  not,  as  at  the  South, 
any  common  bond  of  loyalty  to  an  ideal  or  devotion  to  a 
sentiment  to  insure  subordination  on  the  part  of  the 
masses.  An  organization  without  ganglionic  branches  and 
semi-independent  heads  was  to  them  very  naturally  a  surprise. 
The  Federal  idea  has  in  truth  infected  everything  connected 
with  the  life  of  the  North  until  an  organization  not  com- 
posed of  successive  representations  seems  to  them  hardly 
less  than  incredible. 

To  be  referred  from  all  quarters,  not  to  some  local 
council  or  chapter  but  always  to  the  G-rand  Master  for  in- 
formation, seemed  to  the  half-authorized  delegations  who 
sought  our  aid  an  aiiomaly,  and  their  surprise  increased 
when  I  informed  them  that  we  could  not  treat  with  them 
since  they  were  not  authorized  to  promise  anything  more 
than  a  vague  endeavor;  while  whatever  I  miglit  covenant 
to  do  in  the  name  of  the  Order  would  certainly  be  per- 
formed. Afterward,  however,  I  was  present  during  cer- 
tain negotiations  carried  on  between  representatives  of  the 
Democratic  party  and  the  leaders  of  the  Labor  move- 
inent,  to  which   allusion  has  alreadv  been  made.     In  this 


362  EIGHTY. NINE. 

case  I  insisted  upon  explaining  to  the  Labor  dele- 
gates to  the  conference  that  I  did  not  speak  as 
Grand  Master,  or  promise  anything  within  the  gift  or  con- 
trol of  the  Order.  For  the  fulfillment  of  the  condi- 
tions agreed  upon  they  must  rely  entirely  upon  the 
pledges  of  the  Northern  Democrats,  whom  we  had  no 
power  to  coerce  or  control,  and  who,  I  was  bound  to  say, 
had  always  proved  false  to  the  people  of  the  South  when 
an  emergency  had  arisen.  In  this  case  the  agreement  was 
faithfully  carried  out  on  both  sides.  At  that  time  there 
was  no  intention  of  giving  them  the  votes  of  Kentucky  and 
Texas. 

Bat  if  the  Labor  forces  of  the  North  were  but  loosely 
organized  we  had  another  ally  whose  discipline  was  such  as 
to  throw  even  that  of  our  Order  into  the  shade.  So  far  as 
I  am  aware,  the  combined  Monopolists  of  the  North  con- 
sisted of  one  man  only.  Who  he  represented,  how  they 
were  organized,  and  what  the  extent  of  his  power,  I  never 
knew.  One  thing  is  certain,  whatever  this  man  promised, 
that  he  did.  Another  thing  is  equally  sure,  they  were 
united  together  simply  by  a  common  bond  of  material  in- 
terest, which  constitutes  the  strongest  ligament  with  which 
an  average  Northern  man  can  be  joined  to  anotlier.  Friend- 
ship, honor  and  even  kinship,  are  weak  and  frangible  ties 
compared  with  the  bond  of  mutual  interest  which  they 
call  business. 

The  circumstances  of  this  alliance  were  of  so  singular 


EIGHTY-NINE.  363 

and  striking  a  character  that  I  feel  not  only  justified  but 
required  to  state  them  in  detail,  since  they  were  known  to 
mc  alone  with  one  other.  If,  in  so  doing,  I  am  compelled 
to  refer  to  certain  matters  of  a  private  and  personal  nature 
concerning  this  other,  it  is  only  because  another  chose  his 
own  house  as  the  theatre  of  negotiation  with  regard  to  public 
affairs.  Besides,  the  chief  incident  was  long  ago  made 
public  by  the  press  of  the  Korth,  which  leaves  nothing 
hidden  which  can  be  found  out. 


CHAPTER    XXXYIL 

It  was  something  more  than  a  year  after  the  organiza- 
tion of  our  Order  that,  happening  to  be  in  tlie  city  of  New 
York,  I  received  a  call  from  Mr.  Stoningham,  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Rock  Oil  Trust,  whose  kinsman  had  been  a 
neighbor  of  General  Fairbanks.  The  ostensible  object  of 
his  visit  was  to  confer  with  me  in  regard  to  Sagamo  Lodge, 
which  General  Faij-banks  had  re-purchased  and  held  in 
his  own  name.  It  was  the  public  ownership  of  so 
valuable  a  property  that  had  directed  attention  to  the  re- 
habilitation of  his  fortunes,  though  he  was  still 
effectually  hidden  under  the  alias  he  had  assumed  in 
his  foreign  home.  Mr.  Stoningham  hud  communicated  to 
me  his  desire  to  secure  this  property  as  the  location  for  a 
girl's  school,  or  college.  The  purchase  had  been  made  through 
me,  and  it  was  natural  that  the  offer  of  Mr.  Stoningham 
should  be  made  to  me.  Upon  my  communicating  this  offer 
to  General  Fairbanks,  he  at  once  notified  me  of  his  willing- 
ness to  give  the  property  for  the  purpose  indicated  under  cer- 
tain conditions.  It  was  in  regard  to  these  that  Mr.  Stoning- 
ham came  to  confer. 

The  result  of  these  negotiations  was  the  establishment  of 
Fairbanks  Seminary,  a  sum  equal  to  the  estimated  value  of 

864 


EIGHTY-NINE.  365 

the  property  being  given  by  Mr.  Stoningham  for  its  improve- 
ment. Its  buildings  are  palatial  in  character.  Above  the  mar- 
ble entrance  are  carved  the  words  :  "In  memory  of  Edith 
Fairbanks- Owen."  The  father  meant  it  for  a  monument 
which  would  preserve  his  daughter's  memory  among  that 
very  class  who  had  been  so  ready  to  denounce  and  disown 
when  misfortune  fell  on  him  and  his.  It  was  a  curious 
impulse,  but  I  do  not  doubt  that  the  man  who  devised  it 
took  great  delight  in  contemplating  the  fact  that  by  estab- 
lishing a  school  beyond  the  means  of  all  but  the  daughters 
of  the  very  richest,  he  was  avenging  the  slights  his  daughter 
had  received  at  their  hands.  It  was  a  unique  revenge,  but 
a  life  made  up  of  such  contradictory  elements  as  that  of  the 
North  necessarily  becomes  a  hot-bed  of  idiosyncracies.  I 
did  not  wholly  apjirove  of  what  was  done,  but  the  father 
had  an  undoubted  right  to  erect  such  a  monument  as  he 
might  choose  to  his  daughter's  memory. 

To  Mr.  Stoningham  the  matter  bore  a  very  different 
complexion.  To  him  it  was  an  act  of  wise  and  judicious 
beneficence. 

"  TTe  think  too  much  of  the  poor  and  not  enough  of 
the  rich,"  he  said.  "  The  day  of  cheap  things  and  pauper 
institutions  is  about  over.  That  is,  the  supply  is  equal  to 
the  demand  and  more  too.  By  herding  rich  and  jDOor  to- 
gether, we  are  making  paupers  of  the  j)oor  and  destroying 
the  spirit  of  the  rich.  It  is  no  crime  to  be  poor,  but  a  rich 
man  is  just  as  good  as  a  poor  man,  and  our  children  should 


366  EIGHTY-NINE. 

be  taught  to  respect  themselves.  After  all,  it  is  to  the  rich, 
the  actually  or  potentially  rich,  that  the  country  must  look 
for  prosperity.  I  wish  General  Fairbanks  would  return. 
We  have  need  of  just  such  men  at  this  time  in  public  life. 
What  with  Socialists  and  Anarchists  and  Knights  of 
Labor  threatening  the  peace  of  society,  we  need  men  of 
wealth  who  have  the  qualities  and  experience  of  the  soldier. 
I  misunderstood  General  Fairbanks  once — or  rather  our 
interests  clashed — and  he  went  under."  (  The  keen-eyed 
little  man  corrected  himself  with  a  smile  which  had  in  it 
more  exultation  than  he  was  probably  aware.)  "  I  am  sure 
we  should  get  on  better  now.  At  one  time  it  was  hard  to 
tell  which  would  come  out  ahead.  If  it  had  been  my  luck 
to  be  the  under  dog,  I  doubt  if  I  should  have  shown  the 
nerve  h6  has  displayed.  You  see  it  is  hard  work  for  a  man 
to  get  up  when  he  falls  so  far — not  that  the  load  is  so  heavy; 
often  it  is  not  half  as  hard  as  trying  not  to  fall — but  he  has 
no  help.  Eich  people  are  very  credulous.  As  long  as  a 
man  is  thought  to  possess  millions,  he  can  control  millions 
more — as  many  as  he  likes,  almost.  But  as  soon  as  he 
needs  help,  no  one  would  let  him  have  a  thousand.  Even  I 
would  rather  help  a  man  who  is  coming  up  the  first  time 
than  one  who  has  been  down  once.  I  don't  know  why.  I 
am  sure  I  pity  the  other  fellow;  but  perhaps  it  isn't  pity — 
perhaps  it  is  only  instinct." 

"  Or  policy,"  I  suggested. 

"  No,  it  isn't  policy,  Mr.  Owen.     You've  heard  what 


EIGHTY-NINE.  367 

is  said  of  me,  I  suppose,  and  no  doubt  thinK  I  am  hard  and 
selfish;  but  I  am  not — that  is,  not  more  so  than  other  men. 
My  wife  used  to  say,  when  I  was  making  my  fight  and  get- 
ting up  the  liill,  that  she  never  knew  a  man  to  be  made 
better  by  being  rich.  She  don^t  say  it  any  more  and  I 
don't  believe  it  ever  was  true — as  a  rule,  I  mean.  Of 
course  a  rich  man  may  be  bad,  but  what  would  he  have 
been  if  he  had  remained  poor  ?  That  is  the  question.  The 
fact  is,  it  is  a  great  deal  easier  to  be  good  Avhen  one  has 
everything  he  wants  ;  just  as  a  child  with  a  houseful  of 
playthings  is  apt  to  be  better  natured  than  one  that  has  only 
'■  an  old  shoe,  nine  oyster-shells,  and  a  dead  kitten  by  way 
of  toys,'  as  Hood  says." 

I  laughed  and  he  took  up  his  hat  to  go. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said,  as  if  he  had  just  thought  of 
it,  "  my  friend  Martling  tells  me  you  have  gotten  yourself 
a  toy  lately." 

I  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  The  Knights  of  the  Southern  Cross — is  that  the 
name  ?  " 

I  bowed  with  a  smile. 

"  You  are  the — Chief  Mogul,  or  whatever  it  is,  they 
tell  me." 

I  nodded  assent  again. 

"Ah,  indeed — very  sentimental.'' 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  answered  quietly,  "  very  practical." 

"Whatl"  he  exclaimed,  throwing  his  hat  upon  the 


3G8  EIGHTY-NINE. 

table  and  sitting  clown  o^^posite  me  again.  "  You  do  not 
mean  to  try  to  break  up  tlie  Union?" 

"Not  at  all." 

"What  then  ? " 

"Only  to  take  care  of  the  pieces  when  it  falls  apart." 

"Yes;  very  good — very  good,"  he  repeated  absently, 
looking  as  if  he  saw  beyond  me,  yet  without  removing  his 
his  eyes  from  mine.  "Wiien  it  falls  apart,  eh?  Then 
you  think  it  will  fall  apart  ?  '*' 

"  Unquestionably." 

'•  How  soon  ?" 

"  That  I  cannot  tell — very  soon,  I  think." 

"  So.     And  you  intend  to  take  care  of  the  South  ?  " 

T  bowed. 

"'  How  many  are  you  ?  "  ho  looked  keenly  at  me  as  he 
asked  the  question. 

"Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Because  I  wish  to  know.  Isent  Martling  South  to 
ascertain  that  and  other  things  about  the  Order.  He  went 
everywhere  and  tried  every  means  to  find  out.  I  am  not 
sure  that  he  was  not  initiated." 

"  He  was,"  I  answered  quietly. 

"Ah,  you  knew  that  I  "  I  could  perceive  that  I  had 
risen  in  his  regard  by  the  tone  he  used. 

Yes,"  he  continued,  with  an  auiused  smile,  "he  was 
initi:ited  and  found  that  ho  knew  just  exactly  as  much  as  he 
did  before.  He  could  tell  another  Knight  wheii  he  tried  hiiu, 


EIGHTT-NINE.  369 

but  that  was  all.  No  one  knew  any  more  than  he.  He  had 
run  against  a  stone-wall.  It  is  not  often  that  Martling 
is  beaten.  Finally  he  wrote  to  the  Grand  Secretary,  by 
whom  he  was  referred  to  you." 

''And  I  refused  to  see  him,"  I  interrupted. 
''Exactly,  and  Martling  had  to  come  home  just  as 
wise  as  he  went  away.     I  think  this  is  the  second  time  you 
have  got  ahead  of  him.     But  you  might  have  seen  him;  he 
is  not  such  a  bad  fellow,  after  all. 

"There  can  be  no  communication  between  us,"  I 
answered.  "  If  you  wished  to  know  anything  you  should 
have  asked  yourself." 

"Well,  I  will,"  said  he,  facing  suddenly  toward  me. 
"  How  many  Knights — as  you  call  them — arc  there  ?  Do 
you  know  ?  " 

"I  know  how  many  there  were  last  night." 

"  Is  report  made  to  you  daily  ?  " 

I  bowed.  As  I  did  so,  I  saw  a  gleam  of  light  flash  into 
his  eyes,  and  smiled  as  I  read  his  thought. 

"  You  think  you  will  soon  know  my  secret  ?"  I  asked. 

He  answered  with  a  shrug. 

"The  gain  each  day  is  reported  in  a  cipher,  which 
even  with  this  explanation  you  could  not  read  in  a  hundred 
years.  There  is  yesterday's,"  I  added,  handing  him  a  dis- 
patch, "if  you  like  to  try." 

"Never  mind,"  he  said,  glancing  hastily  at  it.  "What 
I  want  tokuoAvis,  can  vour  Order  control  the  South  ?" 


370  EIGHTY-NINE. 

*'Tlie  South  is  always  'solid  '  in  her  own  interests." 

"  By  George  !  "  he  exclaimed.  '•  You  are  right  there  ! 
But  who  controls  the  Order  ?  '' 

"  The  Grand  Master,  by  and  with  the  consent  of  the 
Supreme  Council." 

''And  they  are— ?" 

*'Even  the  Grand  Master  is  not  allowed  to  reveal  their 
names." 

"  How  many  know  the  number  of  the  Order  ?  " 

"The  Grand  Secretar}',  the  Grand  Master  and  those 
to  whom  he  may  choose  to  reveal  it." 

"And  you  have  revealed  it  to — how  many  ?" 

'I  have  not  yet  found  it  necessary  to  reveal  it  to  any  one." 

"  Indeed  ?    Not  even  to  your  Council  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

There  were  a  few  moments  of  silence. 

'•  Mr.  Owen,  if  one  wanted  to  communicate  with  this 
Order  confidentially  and  on  matters  of  great  importance, 
how  could  it  be  done  ?  " 

"Through  the  Grand  Master,"  I  replied. 

"In  no  other  way  ?" 

"None." 

"  Verbally  or  in  writing  ?  " 

"That  would  be  as  he  might  desire." 

Mr.  Stoningham  rose  from  his  chair  and  walked  hast- 
ily once  or  twice  across  the  room.  Pausing  he  glanced 
keenly  down  at  me. 


EIGHTY -NINE.  371 

"Mr.  Owen,  how  do  I  know  you  are  to  be  trusted  ?" 

"You  do  not  doubt  that  I  am  the  Grand  Master  ?" 

"  No,  indeed.     That  I  know." 

"  Through  Martling's  report,"  I  said  with  a  sneer. 

"Through  your  own  dispatches,  hundreds  of  which  I 
have  read,"  he  answered  quietly.  He  evidently  expected 
that  I  would  show  surprise,  but  I  did  not.  I  had  long  sus- 
pected such  scrutiny  of  my  telegraphic  communications  and 
had  taken  measures  to  baffle  it. 

"  What  more  do  you  wish  to  know  ?  " 

"  Only  whether  such  communication  would  be  regarded 
as  strictly  confidential.  I  know  very  well  that  you  can 
keep  a  seeret;  what  troubles  me  is  whether  you  would 
keep  the  one  I  might  entrust  you  with." 

"  I  am  a  gentleman,"  I  said  somewhat  pompously. 

"Which  means — ?"  he  queried, 

"  That  I  will  always  do  whatever  a  gentleman  ought 
to  do." 

"  And  that  is  all  you  will  say  ?  "  he  asked  uneasily. 

"All." 

He  walked  across  the  room  again,  very  slowly,  with 
his  hands  behind  him  and  his  head  thrown  back  as  if  ex- 
amining the  ceiling.  Turning  suddenly,  he  came  and  said, 
with  a  quick  nervous  manner,  while  his  eyes  flashed  under 
his  dark  down-drawn  brows, 

"  I  will  risk  it.  Mr.  Owen.  I  have  an  important  com- 
munication I  wish  to  nuike  to  you;  but  this  is  neither  the 


B^jJ  EIGHTY. NiN^. 

time  uor  the  place.  Have  you  any  engagements  for  this 
evening  ? '' 

''  None  of  importance/' 

''  Good.  Can  you  dine  with  me  at  six  ?  Then  we  can 
have  a  long  evening  to  ourselves." 

I  assented. 

"Very  well.  I  will  call  for  you  at  four-thirty  and  we 
will  drive  out.     Good-bye." 

He  had  seized  his  liat  and  was  gone  almost  before  I 
realized  his  intention  to  take  his  departure. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

I  am  not  easily  awed  by  contact  with  greatness,  for  I 
have  found  in  a  life  which  has  brought  me  close  to  many 
great  names,  that  few  lives  at  all  come  up  to  their  renown. 
I  could  count  upon  my  fingers,  and  have  some  to  spare, 
the  men  who  have  not  shrivelled  upon  near  approach. 
Great  soldiers,  great  statesmen,  great  authors,  great  artists 
— I  have  seen  them  all  on  closer  scrutiny  reveal  themselves 
as  little  men  or  only  great  accidents.  But  this  man,  with 
the  fixed,  remote  gaze,  calm,  impassive  face  and  flashing 
dark  eyes  under  his  smooth  brow,  imjn'essed  me  as  the 
greatest  I  had  seen  since  I  rode  across  the  hills  with  my 
father  when  a  nation's  life  hung  in  the  balance. 

Somehow  the  two  men  affected  me  in  much  the  same 
way.  They  resembled  each  other  not  only  in  form  and 
feature,  but  even  in  voice  and  intellectual  character  there 
Avas  a  likeness.  This  impression  was  all  the  more  surpris- 
ing as  I  had  distinctly  made  up  my  mind  not  only  to  dis- 
trust but  to  dislike  him.  When  I  had  time  to  analyze 
my  feelings  after  his  departure,  I  began  to  miderstand 
why  it  was  that  this  simple,  unpretentious  man  was  to  the 
world  of  finance  precisely  what  Napoleon  had  been  to  the 

373 


374  EIGHTY-NINE. 

political  world — the  greatest  of  his  age  if  not  of  all 
the  ages.  I  no  longer  wondered  that  in  twenty-four  years 
he  had  risen  from  a  clerk's  desk  to  tlie  management  and 
control  of  more  millions  than  any  one  ever  had  at  his  dis- 
posal before.  He  was  simply  a  plain,  direct,  earnest  man, 
who  believed  in  himself  and  his  fortune  ;  was  w'ithout 
envy  ;  cared  nothing  for  parade  ;  held  himself  no  whit 
above  tiie  multitude  whom  he  overreached  and  plundered, 
but  had  the  utmost  confidence  iu  iiis  divine  right  to  over- 
reach and  plunder  if  he  could.  I  did  not  approve  of  the 
man's  woi'k  any  more  than  when  he  had  entered  my  room 
an  aour  before:  indeed  I  dreaded  his  power  a  great  deal 
more;  but  1  respected  his  manhood  and  felt  that  I  coul<l 
trust  his  word.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  after  all  that  has 
occurred  that  I  regard  the  President  of  the  Rock  Oil  Trust 
as  one  of  the  most  upright,  reliable  and  conscientious  men, 
when  speaking  and  acting  for  himself,  that  I  have  ever 
known — and  by  all  odds  the  ablest  and  most  dangerous. 
It  was  characteristic  of  this  man  that  on  the  stroke  of 
the  hour  he  had  named  he  called  for  me,  in  a  light,  open 
vehicle — ''rig"  it  would  have  l)een  called  in  the  vernacu- 
lar of  that  region — driven  by  himself.  I  found  him  waiting 
at  the  edge  of  the  curbstone  in  front  of  the  hotel,  his 
shapely  hands  clothed  in  tawny  driving  gloves,  holding  the 
reins  over  a  pair  of  impatient  roadsters.  Even  before  he 
had  spoken,  with  an  inherited  instinct  I  had  taken  in  the 
ensemble  of  the  turnout.     To  my  eyes  it  was  an  exquisite 


EIG HT  Y-  NINE.  375 

picture — a  span  of  blacks,  undipped  and  glossy- coated, 
showing  the  unmistakable  marks  of  speed,  bottom  and 
spirit  Avhich  go  to  make  the  jDerfect  roadster;  the  harness 
black,  almost  without  a  hint  of  glazing,  and  with  just  a  touch 
of  gold  on  the  headstalls;  the  wagon  light — too  light  I 
thought  at  first  for  the  rough  streets  we  had  to  traverse — 
but  one  of  those  marvels  of  strength  and  elasticity  which 
only  American  skill  has  ever  put  into  wheel  vehicles. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"'  he  said  as  I  approached.  "  I 
took  it  for  granted  that  you  liked  a  horse,  and  as  I  always 
drive  home  from  the  office  if  the  weather  is  fair,  my  man 
took  the  cars  as  soon  as  I  took  the  reins.  So  I  had  to  send 
for  you,  as  I  did  not  care  to  let  a  stranger  hold  them."" 

He  nodded  toward  the  horses  as  he  sjooke,  and  when 
I  had  taken  my  seat  beside  him  he  continued: 

"  They  are  as  gentle  as  kittens  to  one  who  knows  them, 
and  might  take  kindly  to  another's  ways;  but  I  always  like 
to  drive  my  oM'n  horses  and  have  them  handled  by  the 
same  man.  I  am  not  a  horseman  in  the  usual  sense  of 
the  word.  I  know  a  good  animal — at  least  one  that  suits 
me — and,  like  all  farm-raised  boys,  know  how  to  manage 
one;  but  I  am  not  a  turfman,  do  not  care  about  the  track, 
and  would  rather  bet  on  oil  or  stocks  than  on  a  race. 
Even  that  I  do  not  like,  strange  as  you  may  think  it.  I 
had  to  do  it  once,  but  now  it  is  unsatisfactory.  I  like  bet- 
ter to  deal  with  products  than  with  possibilities.  That  is 
trade — commerce  in  its  true  sense;  this  down  on  the  Street 


376  EIGHTY -NINE. 

here  is  gambling — gambling  in  its  worst  sense,  where  no 
cue  knows  wlio  deals,  or  whether  the  cards  are  '  stocked  ' 
or  not.  But  I  do  like  to  drive  about  town,  especially  in 
crowded  streets,  where  it  seems  that  such  a  spider-web  af- 
fair as  this  road-wagon  would  have  no  more  chance  to 
come  out  whole  than  a  birch  canoe  in  a  battle  of  ironclads. 
Look  there,  now  !  " 

The  gloved  wrist  made  a  sudden  turn  and  the  wagon 
slid  between  two  lumbering  drays,  just  grazing  the  axle 
of  one  and  quivering  like  a  frightened  thing  as  it  sped  from 
a  blow  from  the  huge  spokes  of  another.  So  we  threaded 
our  way  for  nearly  an  hour  through  the  rumbling,  jost- 
ling mass  that  filled  the  great  highway — now  dodging  a 
car,  a  dray,  a  cab,  but  always  escaping  from  seemingly  in- 
evitable destruction.  Then  we  turned  down  a  quiet 
street  where  the  hoofs  strokes  were  muffled  by  concrete 
pavement  and  the  wagon  rolled  on  as  noiselessly  as  if  its 
tires  were  cushioned,  till  we  reached  a  stately  mansion  and 
alighted  at  the  house  of  this  man  who  was  many  times 
a  millionaire. 

"1  had  quite  forgotten  this,"  he  said,  pointing  to 
a  solid  looking  box  that  stood  in  the  hall  as  we  en- 
tered. "What  do  you  think  it  is?"  he  asked  with  a 
laugh. 

Of  course  I  could  not  guess.  He  sent  a  servant  for  a 
couple  of  men  and  directed  them  to  place  it  on  the  land- 
ing of  the  third  story.     After  they  had  passed  out  of  hear- 


EIGUTY-NINE  377 

ing  he  said,  as  we  entered  a  comfortable  but  somewhat  or- 
nate reception  room, 

"  No,  you  would  never  guess  what  is  in  that  box,  and 
now  that  you  are  here  I  am  sorry  it  was  sent.  You  see 
this  is  my  wife's  birthday,  though  I  am  ashamed  to  say  I 
had  forgotten  it  until  I  saw  the  box.  '* 

"  I  hope  I  do  not  intrude  ? "  I  hastened  to  say. 

"  Oh,  not  all,"  was  his  hearty  response.  "But  you 
may  think  the  little  alfair  that  has  been  planned  a  matter 
of  foolish  ostentation,  perhaps.  But  it  is  not — I  assure  you 
it  is  not.  It  is  only  a  child's  fancy.  I  like  a  good  horse, 
it  is  true — as  good  as  money  can  buy,  and  am  glad  to  have 
the  money  to  buy  him ;  but  I  would  not  give  a  cent  more 
to  see  him  go  a  second  below  the  record.  So,  too,  with  a 
house,  I  like  a  good  one — just  as  good  as  can  be  made.  I 
didn^t  make  this — it  is  a  little  too  showy  for  me.  My 
house  is  in  ths  country.  There  is  where  I  like  to  live  and 
have  my  children  live.  But  in  country  or  city  I  have  no 
use  for  a  house  made  to  look  at  or  in  competition  with 
some  one  else's.  I  want  it  to  live  in — I  want  the  maxi- 
mum degree  of  comfort  Avith  the  minimum  degree  of  show. 
In  other  words  I  want  the  best  things  and  enjoy  knowing 
that  I  have  tbem  but  I  do  not  care  for  display. 

"There  is  my  watch  now — just  illustrates  what  I 
mean."  He  took  from  his  pocket  a  plain  silver  watch  us 
he  spoke.     "  Why  do  you  think  I  carry  that  ?" 

"  Partly  from  whim,  partly  to  prevent  being  robbed." 


378  EIGHT  y-yiNE 

''Not  a  bad  guess,"  he  replied  laughingly;  ''but  you 
are  wrong  in  both  suj^positions.  I  wanted  a  watch  made 
according  to  my  own  notion.  The  jeweller  said  it  would  be 
difficult  to  put  so  muchmachinery  in  a  gold  case  without  mak- 
ing it  too  heavy.  I  told  hini  to  put  it  in  silver,  then;  I 
wanted  it  for  use,  not  ornament.  I  suppose  it  is  the  most  val- 
uable watch  in  the  world,  but  you  would  hardly  look  at 
it  in  a  pawnbroker's  window." 

"  Perhaps  not,  without  your  explanation,"  I  said. 

"  And  I  gave  that  to  make  way  for  another.  As  I 
told  you,  it  is  my  wife's  birthday,  and  I  was  at  my  wit's 
end  to  know  what  to  get  her  for  a  present.  I  never  know 
what  to  do  in  such  a  matter,  especially  for  one  who  has 
everything,  as  of  course  my  wife  does;  for  all  I  have  is  hers, 
and  more,  too,  if  she  wants  it.  I  love  my  Avife  and  children, 
sir,"  he  said,  turning  earnestly  toward  me.  "  All  I  have 
done  has  been  for  them,  and  I  would  throw  it  all  away  and 
begin  over  again  if  it  would  do  them  any  good,  or  even 
give  them  any  pleasure;  but  I  can't  buy  presents.  So  I 
was  glad  when  my  youngest  asked  me  if  the  children  might 
have  a  novel  sort  of  entertainment  for  their  mother's  birth- 
day— a  queer  sort  of  surprise  party,  in  fact.  "Well,  that 
box  contains  the  material.  If  you  feel  like  ridiculing  the 
performance  by  and  by,  don't  let  the  children  see  your 
mirth,  please.  We  are  plain  people,  Mr.  Owen,  if  we  do 
happen  to  be  rich;  and  I  never  expect  to  get  over  my  old- 
fashigned  notions." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

I  shall  never  forget  that  birthda}'  dinner  in  the  home 
of  this  noted  cento-millionaire.  To  speak  of  it  as  plain  would 
be  incorrect.  It  was  abundant  rather  than  sumjjtuous 
—a  well-cooked,  well-served,  wholesome  family  dinner. 
The  family  including  a  bevy  of  children,  the  paternal  and 
maternal  grandmothers,  a  brother  and  sister  with  their  con- 
sorts, a  schoolmate  of  ^Ir.  Stoningham's,  the  pastor  of  the 
church  and  his  wife — this  was  the  company.  With  these 
I  was  sandwiched  in,  through  the  forgetf illness  of  the 
master  of  this  peculiar  feast.  It  was  a  phase  in 
high  life  that  was  new  to  me — an  aristocracy  not  alto- 
gether devoted  to  eating  and  drinking,  nor  absorbed  in 
what  are  usually  termed  "social  duties."  To  my  surprise 
I  did  not  find  myself  at  all  de  tro}).  It  was  as  informal  a 
dinner  as  ever  was  served  in  a  Southern  gentleman's  home 
and  enjoyed  with  as  hearty  zest.  There  was  abundant  evi- 
dence of  unbounded  wealth,  but  no  trace  of  efforts  at  dis- 
play. 

During  it  all  I  could  not  realize  that  outside  was  the 
glittering,  lamp-lit  city,  and  scarce  a  mile  away  the  pur- 
lieus of  that  mighty  mart  through  which  the  commerce  of 

379 


380  EIGHTY. NINE. 

a  nation  flows — the  heart  of  a  continent's  throbbing  life  ! 
The  schoolmate,  a  grave  earnest  man — a  professor,  I  think, 
in  some  western  college,  escorted  the  wife  to  dinner;  the 
pastor  took  the  paternal  grandmother,  and  the  host  gave 
the  place  of  honor  at  his  side  to  Ids  mother-in-law!  It  was 
my  privilege  to  sit  at  his  other  hand.  Much  as  I  deplore 
the  fact  that  men  of  such  enormous  wealth  have  been  de- 
veloped by  our  civilization,  I  could  but  admit  that  here  was 
one  not  given  to  ostentation  or  snobbishness.  There  was 
no  hint  of  wealth,  its  woes  or  conveniences,  except  when 
the  classmate  made  an  allusion  to  some  of  the  host's  recent 
benefactions,  which  he  characterized  as  princely. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  wife,  with  a  touch  of  sadness  in  her 
tone,  "  I  am  afraid  we  do  not  give  as  much  as  we  ought. 
When  we  were  first  married  William  used  to  give  one-tenth 
of  his  income,  and  really  wo  were  very  happy  on  the  re- 
mainder, though  it  wasn't  very  large.  But  now  wc  have 
so  much  we  do  not  think  of  giving  nearly  as  liberally  in 
proportion." 

She  glanced  half-reproachfully  at  her  hnsband  as  she 
spoke. 

*'My  dear,''  he  said  laughingly.  *' It  wouldn't  do. 
People  would  claim  I  was  going  into  the  philanthropic 
business  on  borrowed  capital — booming  my  profits — '  bull- 
ing my  luck,'  as  they  say  on  the  street.  Besides  that,  you 
know  they  would  claim  that  my  donations  were  but  a  mere 
conscience  fund.      Why,  last  year  I  gave  a  trifle — forty 


EIGHTY.  NIX  E.  381 

thousand,  I  think — to  help  a  college  out  of  debt,  and  when 
the  fact  was  published,  a  witty  fellow  said,  '  Why  shouldn't 
he  give  forty  thousand?  He  has  stolen  forty  millions!' 
That's  the  thanks  1  get.  You  see,  Doctor,"  (addressing 
the  divine)  "they  think  I'm  robbing  Peter,  not  to  pay 
Paul,  but  to  make  him  a  present." 

"It  is  a  hard  thing,"  said  the  pastor  gravely,  "for  a 
rich  man  to  do  his  duty.  I  have  often  wished  I  had  more 
of  the  world's  goods,  and  perhaps  as  often  have  been 
glad  I  had  not.  I  would  not  have  your  responsibility  for 
the  world,  and  I  thank  God  that  you  carry  it  as  unpreten- 
tiously and  humbly  as  when  thousands,  rather  than  millions, 
not  only  measured  your  possessions  but  bounded  your 
hopes." 

"  William  is  always  the  same  to  those  he  loves,''  chimed 
in  the  mother-in-law.  "  I  used  to  be  afraid  to  have  him 
grow  rich,  but  I  think  the  richer  he  has  become  the  better 
he  has  grown." 

"  Thank  you,  mother,"  said  the  great  financier.  "  You 
see,  its  a  gi'eat  deal  easier  to  be  good — or  good-natured, 
which  amount  to  the  same  thing,  in  common  ac- 
ceptance— when  one  has  all  he  can  reasonably  wish  without 
effort  or  sacrifice.  I  have  had  so  much  good  fortune  that  I 
hardly  know  how  to  get  along  with  it,  and  am  constantly 
afraid  I  shall  get  the  fidgets,  as  some  men  do,  lest  I 
should  lose  some  of  it.  Of  course  I  don't  want  to  lose 
any  of  it,  but   I   wouldn't  mind  giving  half  of  it  away. 


383  EIOITTT'KINE. 

if  I  knew  what  to  give  it  to ;  or  sharing  it  with  those 
who  have  not  enough,  if  I  knew  just  how  to  get  at  them 
— who  they  are  and  where  they  are.  But  when  anybody 
conies  to  claim  it  as  a  right,  simply  because  I  have  more 
than  they,  then  I  am  going  to  fight  for  it — and  fight  to 
the  death,  too.  I  got  it  lawfully  and  they  would  take  it 
unlawfully.  I  won't  be  robbed  nor  will  I  be  compelled 
to  be  generous.  What  I  have  to  give  I  will  give  in  my 
own  time  and  in  my  own  way,  because  it  is  mine.  I 
don't  care  much  for  money — as  long  as  I  have  enough, 
that  is — but  I  do  like  the  struggle  of  getting  it  and 
don't  mind  fighting  to  keep  it.  I'di  not  entitled  to  any 
credit  for  being  kind  to  my  friends,  since  it  costs  me 
nothing,  and  I  suppose  I  do  it  for  my  own  pleasure. 

'•  I  like  the  struggle  for  juofit,  much,  I  suppose,  as 
a  gladiator  would  a  fight.  It  is  just  standing  up,  giving 
and  taking,  but  never  squealing,  I  hate  a  man  that 
squeals  and  enjoy  a  man  that  picks  himself  up  and  goes  in 
for  a  fresh  chance.  I  make  no  pretensions  to  merit  except 
in  two  directions — no  man  ever  knew  me  to  betray  a  friend 
or  turn  my  back  on  an  enemy.  I  want  my  children  to  be 
brave  and  strong  and  honest,  and  I  mean  to  set  them  an 
example  they  will  not  be  ashamed  of.  Then  if  they  have 
to  begin  where  I  did  they  can  fight  their  OAvn  way.  I 
ilon't  mean  that  they  shall,  but  I  should  be  ashamed  of 
them  if  they  tried  and  failed. 

"I  don't  think  T  am  anv  better  than  anv  one  else  or 


EIGHTY-NINE.  383 

any  more  entitled  to  good  fortune.  A  poor  man  may  be  a 
great  deal  better  and  wiser  than  I.  He  may  have  cultivated 
virtue  and  devoted  his  energies  to  getting  knowledge. 
That  is  all  right.  It  is  his  and  I  do  not  want  to  take  it 
from  him.  I  set  out  to  make  money — not  for  the  sake 
of  money  but  because  I  like  the  struggle.  What  I  have 
I  w^on  in  a  free  fight  and  the  man  who  thinks  he  can 
get  it  away  from  me  is  welcome  to  try  it.  That's  fair; 
and  that's  all  the  good  I  lay  claim  to.  Now  and  then,  I 
give  to  somebody  or  something  that  needs  help  and  may  do 
more  in  that  line,  if  I  feel  inclined;  but  it  is  not  because  I 
feel  any  sort  of  compunction  for  getting  together  what  the 
law  allows  and  in  fact  encourages  me  to  acquire — for  it  is  a 
fact  that  everything  is  in  favor  of  the  successful  man  in  busi- 
ness. I  can  go  in  debt  a  million  dollars  and  no  one  will  ask 
for  pay  simply  from  fear  of  offending  one  who  can  pay.  The 
law,  society,  everything,  favors  him  who  has  money  and 
cramps  him  who  has  not.  After  a  man  gets  a  fair  start 
there  is  no  limit  to  what  he  may  do.  Given  a  million 
dollars,  and  a  man  ought  to  be  worth  ten  millions  inside 
of  ten  years  without  much  effort  or  half  as  much  genius 
as  is  needed  to  enable  one  who  has  only  a  thousand  to  add 
as  much  more  to  his  little  pile.  I  am  not  any  better  than 
I  was  when  I  was  poor,  mother;  I  doubt  if  I  am  as  good; 
but  I  am  probably  better  natured,  as  I  do  not  have  to 
work  so  hard  or  to  sacrifice  at  all." 

Such  was  the  tone  and  substance  of  his  conversation — 


384  EIGHTY,  y  IX  E . 

modest,  self -depreciating,  charitable  to  others,  in  fact,  what 
his  countrymen  would  call  sensible.  To  me  all  this  was  a 
revelation  and  a  surprise.  Never  have  I  shared  a  family 
dinner  in  which  the  virtues  of  American  domesticity 
were  more  perfectly  illustrated  than  in  this  luxurious 
home  of  the  prince  of  millionaires — the  most  daring  and 
successful  of  those  buccaneers  of  finance  who  are  destined 
to  be  the  nobility  of  the  new  civilization  which  is  crys- 
talizing  at  the  North. 


CHAPTER    XL. 

After  the  dinner  there  was  a  buzz  of  preparation.  The 
children,  big  with  the  self-importance  of  a  well-kept 
secret,  flitted  back  and  forth  and  from  father  to  mother, 
from  cousin  to  aunt,  impatient  for  the  exi^ected  moment  to 
arrive.  It  was  a  pretty  scene— so  pretty  that  I  grew  ashamed 
of  the  feeling  I  had  entertained  toward  the  tender-hearted 
man  who  had  achieved  so  much  for  those  he  loved.  I  had 
wondered  at  his  achievments  hitherto;  from  that  moment  I 
respected  his  motives,  after  a  certain  fashion,  and  felt  an 
honest  pride  in  his  marvelous  cajjacity.  He  stood  revealed 
to  me  a  modern  Midas  with  the  virtues  of  the  Puritan, 
a  marvelous  product  of  a  wonderful  era — how  marvelous 
I  was  yet  to  learn. 

The  father  and  mother  withdrew  with  their  children 
with  pleasant  apologies  to  prepare  for  the  spectacle  we 
were  to  witness.  No  wonder  there  was  a  look  of  pride  in 
the  mother's  eye  as  she  followed  her  husband  with  the 
pretty,  clamorous  group  around  her  I 

We  Avaited,  loitering  about  the  softly  lighted  rooms, 
chatting  pleasantly  and  noting  the  luxurious  surroundings. 
I  had  Just  become  absorbed  in  conversation  with  the  pas- 

385 


38fJ  EIGHTY- NINE. 

tor,  a  quiet,  earnest  inau,  to  wlioiu  the  task  of  ministering 
to  such  souls  as  composed  his  congregation  seemed  by  no 
means  to  have  lightened  the  sadness  which  the  world's  woe 
unfolds  to  men  of  his  calling,  when  the  door  opened  and 
a  little  maid,  with  flushed  cheeks  and  beaming  eyes,  called 
to  us: 

"  Come  quick  !     Come  and  see  I  " 

We  did  not  wait  for  a  second  invitation.  I  gave  my 
arm  to  the  most  infirm  of  the  grandparents  and,  with  our 
impatient  herald  clinging  to  her  other  hand,  we  followed 
the  little  company  to  the  spacious  hall.  Seats  were  pro- 
vided in  the  vestibule — itself  a  room  of  no  mean  propor- 
tions, modeled  on  the  Roman  atrium,  whose  brazen  sides 
swung  back  and  made  a  stage  of  the  hall  beyond.  This 
had  Ijeen  transformed  into  a  dungeon,  dimly  lighted. 
Bronze  doors  with  ponderous  locks,  such  as  the  ancient 
treasure-vaults  disclose.  We  waited,  charmed  by  the  real- 
ism of  the  fair  picture,  while  from  the  shaded  stairway 
above  a  lisping  voice  began  in  childish  verse  the  story  of 
Danae  in  the  dungeon  of  Argos,  bemoaning  the  sad  fate 
the  oracle  had  decreed.  One  and  another  childish  voice 
took  up  the  pretty  argument  till  the  darkness  above  was  ani- 
mate with  the  tender  plaint.  There  was  something  very 
charming  in  the  idea  of  utilizing  the  strophe  and  anti- 
strophe  of  the  Greek  drama  in  their  childish  sport  and 
crowning  their  mother's  birthday  with  a  representation  of 
an  ancient  myth  which   had  already  been  enacted  in  her 


E I G II T  Y  -  N I N  E .  38  7 

life.  I  had  been  told  that  it  was  entirely  the  work  of  the 
children^  and  as  we  listened  in  the  dim  light  I  wondered  if  a 
poet  had  indeed  sprung  from  the  loins  of  Croesus.  While  I 
mused  the  moment  arrived  for  the  coming  of  the  god  in 
the  shower  of  gold.  Suddenly  a  thousand  electric  lights 
flashed  out,  the  host  came  striding  from  the  door  of  the  ele- 
vator at  the  other  side  of  the  hall  and  the  laughing  cherubs 
above  sent  down  a  shower  of  gold  that  fell  like  a  sheet  of 
\ellow  light  between  the  spectators  and  the  dungeon  doors. 
How  the  yellow  coins  shone  in  the  glaring  light  as  they  fell 
upon  the  place  prepared  for  the  expected  shower  or  rolled 
and  settled  on  the  marble  floor  !  The  brazen  doors  flew 
open;  the  blinding  light  showed  the  prisoner  sitting  dazed 
and  wondering  on  the  rugged  couch.  The  fetters  fell  from 
her  limbs;  the  golden  shower  abated  and  the  resplendent 
god  led  away  his  willing  captive.  The  guests  clapped  their 
hands  in  approval.  The  childish  voices  burst  into  a  con- 
fused chorus  of  laughter.  Bright  faces  were  for  a  moment 
visible  over  the  balcony,  then  came  the  clatter  of  childish 
feet  and  the  fable  of  Danae  and  Zeus  had  been  enacted  be- 
fore our  eyes  with  a  splendor  probably  never  known  before, 
save  in  the  dissolute  court  of  the  French  king. 

There  were  tears  in  the  mother's  eyes  as  she  came 
towards  us  a  moment  afterwards. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  "it  looks  like  ostentation.  I 
knew  nothing  about  this  shower  of  gold.  The  children  de- 
vised it  to  give  me  pleasure.     Our  eldest  is  named  Perseus 


388  EIGHT  Y-NINE. 

and  is  naturally  attracted  to  this  golden  myth.  My 
husband  says  we  are  to  have  the  money  for  our  win- 
ter charities.  Will  you  help  us  to  use  it  in  that  way,  doc- 
tor ?  It  is  to  be  put  in  tiie  bank,  and  the  children  are  to 
draw  all  the  checks,  hear  all  the  cases  presented,  and  de- 
cide how  much  shall  be  given  to  each.  We  want  to  teach 
them  to  do  right.     Will  you  help  us  ?  " 

*' Indeed,  I  will,  madam,"  said  the  divine,  his  voice 
choked  with  emotion,  "  and  on  behalf  of  the  poor  whose 
suffering  this  money  will  alleviate,  I  invoke  God's  blessing 
on  your  muniticeuce." 

"Not  our's,  doctor — not  ours,"  said  the  simple-minded 
woman,  clasping  her  hands  in  earnest  denial.  "  It  is  not 
ours.  We  are  only  almoners  of  what  God  has  given  us  but 
too  abundantly.  I  do  not  know  how  we  shall  do  our  duty. 
I  try  to  teach  the  children — perhaps  they  will  be  able  to  do 
better  than  we.  You  must  not  blame  us,"  she  added  with 
tender  pathos.  -'  We  are  like  the  poor  man — who  was  it, 
sir  ? — who  found  a  diamond  of  priceless  value  and  learned 
to  love  its  glitter  so  well  that  he  could  not  bring  liimself  to 
part  with  it,  and  so  died — starved,  with  a  king's  ransom 
hidden  in  his  rags.  We  wish  to  do  right,  but  the  care  of 
what  we  have  rests  so  heavily  on  my  husband,  and  he  is  so 
good,  that  I  dislike  to  trouble»him  with  my  fancies." 

This  woman's  heart  had  not  been  seared  with  the 
molten  drops,  and  the  life  from  which  she  had  sprung  had 
not  been  effaced.     She  retired  to  remove  the  habit  she  had 


EIGHTY-  NI NE.  389 

worn    Just  as  her  husband,  ah-eady  disarrayed,  came   for- 
ward to  hear  the  commeuts  of  his  guests. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said,  addressing  himself  to  me  last 
of  all.  I  am  afraid  this  has  seemed  to  you  very  crude. 
The  children  proposed  it,  and  as  it  was  easy  enough  to 
gratify  them,  I  did  not  refuse.  Besides,  Ave  did  not  ex- 
pect any  strangers." 

Barbaric  as  the  spectacle  had  been,  it  had  shown  me  a 
better  side  of  the  rich  man's  nature,  and  I  replied  truth- 
fully enough  that  I  did  not  think  the  marvelous  display 
would  do  the  children  any  harm  but  rather  good,  as  they 
would  learn  from  the  disbursement  of  the  money  that 
wealth  was  given  not  merely  for  their  own  gratification, 
but  to  relieve  the  needs  of  others. 

The  gold  was  gathered  into  rouleaux  which,  after 
being  counted  with  habitual  care,  were  jDlaced  in  two  can- 
vas bags,  and  our  guest  invited  his  classmate  and  myself 
to  go  down  with  him  in  the  elevator  and  inspect  the  vault 
in  which  it  was  to  be  stored  for  the  night. 

''Here  we  are,"  he  said,  flinging  open  an  immense 
iron  door,  showing  a  vault  as  large  as  an  ordinary  room, 
brilliantly  lighted  by  electricity.  ''Here  we  are,  thirty 
feet  below  the  level  of  the  sidewalk  in  probably  the  most 
thoroughly  protected  treasure-vault  in  the  world.  Water- 
proof, fire-proof  and — " 

"  Burglar- proof,  I  suppose,"  said  his  old  friend,  as  he 
paused. 


300  EI  GUT  Y -  NINE. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that/"  was  the  reply.  "  I  often 
wish  it  were  not  here.  Yon  see,  the  man  whose  shell  I 
bought  was  not  only  a  millionaire,  but  a  scientist,  and  be- 
lieved in  such  things.  1  don't.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  am 
half  afraid  it  will  yet  prove  our  undoing.  I  fear  the  ide:i 
may  get  out  that  immense  treasures  are  concealed  here,  and 
men  be  temj)ted  to  secure  them  by  violence.  Wc  hardly 
over  keep  anything  of  any  great  value  here.  Of  course, 
our  plate,  some  jewelry  and  other  valuable  articles 
used  only  on  special  occasions  are  stored  here ;  but 
nothing  commensurate  with  its  capacity.  It  never  con- 
tains money,  stocks  or  bonds  to  any  considerable  amount. 
The  steward  comes  here  when  he  chooses,  and  the  under- 
steward  when  he  is  sent.  Both  have  the  combination 
and  the  keys  except  of  a  few  small  drawers.  Both  know 
there  is  nothing  here  worth  the  risk  of  a  great  crime 
and  sure  detection.  Both  think  they  know  all  its  secrets; 
but,  bless  you,  they  do  not  know  a  quarter  of  them.  Do 
you  seee  that  grated  column  ?  It  connects  with  the  street 
main,  and  by  turning  a  handle  in  my  room  I  can  flood  this 
vault  in  ten  minutes.  You  observe  that  there  is  an  open 
space  between  the  outer  and  the  inner  door.  By  touching  a 
knob  in  my  bedroom  I  can  drop  another  iron  door  into 
place,  which  can  be  raised  only  by  hydrostatic  means." 

"If  it  would  suit  you  as  well,"  said  the  classmate 
with  a  shudder,  *'  I  believe  I  would  as  soon  stand  outside 
the  door.     Something  might  happen,  you  know." 


EIGHTY  NINE.  391 

*'Otne  minute/'  said  the  host  with  a  laugh,  *'and  we 
will  all  go.  Here  is  one  thing  that  is  really  interestiug, 
and  I  am  inclined  to  put  a  good  deal  of  confidence  in  it. 
If  you  will  note  the  bars  of  this  door  you  will  observe  that 
each  passes,  when  it  is  closed,  along  the  face  of  an  im- 
mense soft  magnet.  When  the  coil  is  not  attached  these 
turn  noiselessly  and  easily.  Two  fingers,  you  perceive,  slide 
them  all  back  and  forth.  Now  by  touching  a  knob  inside 
the  vault  and  turning  another  outside,  a  powerful  current 
of  electricity  is  sent  through  the  coils  and  the  bolts  are  as 
fast  as  if  welded  to  the  iron  loops,  so  that  the  door  cannot 
be  opened  until  the  circuit  is  broken,  which  can  be  done 
only  by  cutting  the  wires  somewhere  outside.  I  myself 
would  have  to  telegraph  to  the  dynamo  station  miles  away 
to  loose  its  grip.  By  another  device  any  one  entering  the 
door  of  this  room  rings  an  electric  bell  both  in  my  room 
and  the  nearest  station  house.  I  shall  put  these  safety  wards 
on  to-night.  The  servants  know  that  a  large  amount  of  coin 
is  in  the  house  and  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  the  butler  or 
his  assistant  sought  to  make  use  of  their  privileges  to  turn 
an  honest  penny.  In  that  case  I  think  I  will  let  down  the 
door  and  perhaps  turn  on  a  little  water.  It  may  be  well 
enough  to  let  them  know  what  they  are  fooling  with." 

He  quickly  made  the  connections  and  we  entered  the 
elevator.  His  friend  stopped  at  the  parlor,  while  we  went 
on  up  to  the  smoking  room  in  a  quaint  Moorish  tower  that 
overlooked  the  lights  of  the  city.     He  told  me  afterward 


392  SiGHTY-JSiyE. 

that  he  caught  his  man  that  night,  but  made  no  further 
explanation.  Whether  it  was  tlie  butler  or  his  assistant  I 
do  not  know. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

"Well,  here  we  are,"  said  Stoningham  when  our 
cigars  were  well  alight,  "and  now  I  am  going  to  tell  you 
frankly  why  I  have  sought  your  acquaintance  and  arranged 
this  interview.  I  think  we  understand  each  other,  and  if 
we  have  not  the  same  ideas,  we  have  in  part  at  least  the 
same  interests.  You  represent  this  curious  Order,  the 
Southern  Cross.  I  don't  mind  saying  to  you  that  it  has 
been  a  surprise  to  me.  A  year  ago  I  should  have  pro- 
nounced it  impossible  that  such  a  thing  should  ever  have  a 
beginning,  let  alone  making  such  pi'ogress.  I  begin  to 
understand  it  now.  You  want  a  separate  government  and 
mean  to  have  it  if  you  can  get  it." 

"  If  we  can  get  it — peaceably,"  I  corrected. 

"I  understand — peaceably  if  you  can,  forcibly  if  you 
must." 

"  By  no  means,"  I  replied.  "  Peaceably  or  not  at  all. 
In  other  words,  if  we  cannot  convince  the  people  of  the 
North  that  they  ought  to  let  us  go  in  peace,  we  will  re- 
main." 

"Well,"  he  said  after  a  moment's  thought,  '^  it's  a 
queer  notion;  but  I  am  frank  to  confess  I  think  you  will 
succeed.     That  is  why  I  wish  to  talk  with  you." 

393 


394  EIGHTT-NINE. 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  say  that  you  are  in  favor  of  our 
success?"  I  asked  with  a  smile  of  incredulity. 

"  Well,  yes  and  no — I  am  and  I  am  not.  As  an 
American — a  citizen — I  would  like  to  see  the  country  as 
big  as  we  can  make  it.  1  am  fond  of  big  things — great  en- 
terprises and  great  nations.  If  I  were  an  Englishman  I 
should  favor  the  "Jingo"  policy.  I  think  Disraeli  was  a 
greater  man  than  Gladstone,  I  believe  tlie  best  euro  for 
the  Irish  trouble  would  be  a  foreign  war — or  would  have 
been  at  the  start.  Abstractly,  therefore,  I  ought  to  be  op- 
posed to  your  notion  of  dismenibortnent.  But  there  are 
other  things  to  be  considered  here  at  the  North,  as  well  as  at 
the  South.  You  want  to  pry  the  Union  apart  because  you 
have  got  the  *  nigger'  and  think  you  must  deal  with  him 
in  your  own  way." 

''Well,  not  thit  alone,"  I  began,  ''there  is — " 
'^Oh,  I  understand,"  he  interrupted,     "There  is  a 
lot  of  what  you  lawyers  call  'feigned  issues';  but  this  is 
the  kernel  of  the  matter.     In  other  words,  if  there  were 
no  'nigger'  there  would  be  no  Southern  Cross." 
"Well,  no — I  suppose  not,"  I  answered  frankly, 
"  Oh,  I  don't  blame  you,     I  suppose  I  should  feel  the 
same  way  in  that  latitude.     It's  a  little  hard  to  own  it. 
My  father  was  an  Abolitionist,  you  know — one  of  the  origi- 
nal '  Old  Guard;'  and  such  inherent  notions  die  hard.     He 
almost  worshiped  tlie  slave;  but  I  haven't  found   much  to 
admire  in  a  '  free  nigger,'  as  you  call  them.     But  did  you 


EIGHTY-NINE.  395 

ever  think,  Mr.  Oweu,  that  we've  got  somethiug  worse 
than  the  '  nigger '  to  deal  with  here  at  the  North  ? " 

"  You  mean  the  Labor  Movement  ? "  I  asked. 

''I  mean  this  infernal  notion  that  is  spreading  among 
the  people  of  the  North  like  rot  in  sheej),  that  one  man 
has  a  right  to  another  man's  proiaerty.  Sometimes  tliey 
call  it  Socialism,  sometimes  Anarchy,  and  sometimes  Labor 
Reform.  It  is  all  the  same  thing  and  always — Robbery. 
It  is  simply  collaring  the  man  who  has  been  successful  and 
making  him  'divvy  '  with  the  one  who  has  been  unsuccess- 
ful. That's  what  we've  got  to  fight;  and  it's  a  fight  for 
life.  Now,  we're  on  your  side  simply  because  your  success 
helps  us.     See  ?  " 

I  confessed  my  inability  to  do  so. 

'•'You  don't  ?  Well,  there  it  is.  You  can  see 
that  ?  " 

He  took  from  the  wall  a  map  of  the  United  States  and 
threw  it  on  the  table  before  us.  A  heavy  black  line  was 
drawn  along  the  Southern  border  of  the  Northern  States, 
running  down  to  the  Potomac.  The  District  of  Columbia 
was  surrounded  by  a  blue  line.  New  York  and  Atlanta 
were  designated  as  capitals. 

"  There,"  said  he,  as  his  finger  traced  these  bounda- 
ries. "You  want  that  part.  You  claim  it  as  yours — 
Southern  territory  you  call  it.  From  my  standpoint,  I 
think  you  are  foolish.  I  think  you  had  better  stand  the 
'nigger'  and  share  our  money.     In  a  little  over  twenty 


396  EIOHl  Y-NINE. 

years  we  have  paid  you  in  river  and  harbor  improvements 
and  consolation  purses  of  one  sort  and  another  several 
hundred  million  dolhirs,  jnst  to  induce  you  to  forgive  us  for 
whipping  you  back  into  the  Union.  Now  it  seems  to  me 
that  if  I  had  as  good  a  cow  as  that  I  should  just  hang  on 
to  her  and  keep  milking.  Why,  the  country  would  be 
perfectly  willing  to  give  you  ten  or  twenty  million  dollars 
a  year  just  to  make  your  niggers  a  little  more  endurable — 
educate  them,  you  know." 

*'But,  my  dear  sir — "  I  began. 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  he  suid  continuing  his  impetuous  dis- 
course. "  You  have  thought  that  all  over  and  made  up 
your  minds.  You  don't  want  them  educated,  except  in 
your  own  way,  and  you  don't  Avant  tlie  country  to  interfere 
with  their  condition  at  ail.  Well,  it's  your  own  job;  but 
to  my  mind,  mighty  poor  business.  If  I  didn't  think  yon 
were  past  changing,  however,  I  wouldn't  be  talking  to  you 
now.'' 

"  How  80,"  I  asked. 

*'  Well,  you  see,  all  this  country  is  ours — Yankee- 
land.  ''  He  passed  his  hand  across  the  Northern  region  as  he 
spoke.  "Here  Yankee  notions  abound, — Yankee  ideas 
prevail.  We  are  not  as  sentimental  as  you,  but  we  are 
practical.  Our  Yankee  idea  of  freedom  is  '  Every  man  for 
himself;'  and  in  order  that  he  may  be  encouraged  to  do 
his  best,  we  assure  him  the  possession  and  enjoyment  of  all 
he  can  get,  and  expect  him  to  be  content  with  what  he  can 


EIGHTY  NINE.  397 

acquire,  and  not  try  to  get  what  another  has  without  earn- 
ing it  or  winning  it  in  lawful  trade. 

"  What  is  the  result  ?  Here  are  forty  millions  of  peo- 
ple, owning  twenty  billion  dollars  of  capital  and  paying 
tive  hundred  millions  in  taxes  annually.  The  bonds  of 
every  one  of  these  States  are  at  par.  Several  of  them  are 
without  a  dollar  of  indebtedness.  Every  child  lives  within 
sight  of  a  school-house,  the  door  of  which  is  open  to  his 
feet.  Less  than  six  in  a  hundred  of  the  people  are  unable 
to  read  and  write.  Here  are  fifty  thousand  miles  of  rail- 
road worth  six  billions  of  dollars,  and  coal,  iron  and  petro- 
leum enough  to  supply  the  world.  More  than  two  billions 
of  dollars  are  invested  in  manufactures.  Here  are  a  hun- 
dred thousand  miles  of  telegraph  and  half  as  many  more 
of  telephone  wire.  One-third  of  the  world's  surplus  food 
comes  and  must  come  from  this  region. 

^'  What  does  all  this  mean  ?  It  means  unbounded 
wealth,  and  consequently  unbounded  power.  This  belt 
from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific  is  the  richest  and  most 
powerful  region  on  the  globe — if  only  the  same  common 
sense  that  produced  these  results  is  applied  to  their  admin- 
istration. This  prosperity  is  the  product  of  brain  and  must 
be  controlled  by  brain.  Now,  who  own  the  brains  ?  Evi- 
dently the  men  who  have  the  money.  Brain  power,  under 
our  system,  is  measured  with  unfailing  accuracy  by 
the  figures  in  Bradstreet.  A  man  may  have  knowledge, 
scientific  attainment,  technical   skill j    but  unless  he  has 


398  EIGHTY. NINE. 

money  you  may  be  sure  he  lacks  grip — power,  brain.  We 
measure  men  by  the  value  of  their  signatures  on  promises 
to  pay,  and  it  is  the  only  true  measure  of  power.  Gov- 
ernment is  nothing  but  business  on  a  large  scale — the 
most  work  for  the  least  money.  That  is  all  there  is  of  it. 
Sentiment  has  no  place  in  it.  Our  people  are  pretty 
much  a  unit  on  that  idea  now,  and  capital  controls  our 
government,  Just  as  it  ought.  We  have  twenty-three 
Senators  worth  over  a  million  dollars  each,  and  several 
Avorth  from  ten  to  fifty  millions.  A  poor  man  now  and  then 
slips  into  Congress  from  these  States,  but  the  chances  are 
that  he  is  the  mere  attorney  of  some  great  interest,  which 
he  is  chosen  to  protect  from  public  encroachment.  This 
accounts  for  our  prosperity.  AVe  make  politics  a  busi- 
ness and  not  a  sentiment. 

"  This  was  well  enough  until  the  new  craze  came  up. 
NoAv  the  people  are  going  wild  over  the  idea  of  robbing  the 
rich — directly  or  indirectly.  We  have  temporized  with  the 
thing  for  years  and  it  has  grown  worse  and  worse  all  the  time. 
It  is  getting  so  that  the  men  who  do  not  pay  a  cent  of  taxes 
Avant  to  run  the  government;  say  how  much  our  railroads 
shall  charge  for  passengers  and  freight;  fix  the  price  of 
coal  and  iron  and  kerosene;  the  rate  of  wages  and  the 
hours  of  Avork — in  short,  run  every  man's  business  for  him 
and  tax  him  for  any  shortage  that  may  result.  The  time 
has  come  Avhen  Ave  must  stop  this  thing  or  be  ruined,  and 
Ave  are  going  to  stop  it.     We  are  all  in  the  same  boat,  you 


EIGHTY-NINE.  399 

see;  every  manufacturer,  transporter  and  telegrapher, 
every  holder  of  bonds  and  employer  of  labor.  We  have  got 
to  fight,  and  whip,  too,  or  be  wiped  out  and  let  Socialism 
or  Anarchy  prevail.  So  we  have  made  a  blind  pool 
to  see  what  can  be  done  about  it.'' 

"A  what?" 

"  A  blind  pool;  that  is,  a  group  of  men — I  don't  care 
to  say  how  many — have  agreed  to  stand  by  what  I  may  de- 
termine upon  as  best  thing  to  do.  There  are  not  many  of 
them  and  yet  not  a  pound  of  freight,  nor  a  single  passen- 
ger, nor  an  express  parcel,  nor  a  telegrajjli  message,  can 
get  from  the  West  to  the  East,  or  from  the  East  to  the  West, 
without  their  leave." 

"  But  the  Mississippi  ?  "  I  ventured. 

''  Oh,  yes — the  Mississippi  !  The  father  of  waters  and 
hobby  of  fools  !  It  will  do  for  you  Southern  sentiment- 
alists to  prate  about  and  for  IS'orthern  sentimentalists  to 
squander  money  on.  But  let  me  tell  you  one  thing:  you 
may  put  a  thousand  dollars  on  every  mile  of  its  length, 
and  then  there  is  not  force  enough  in  any  government  on 
earth  to  drive  trade  down  its  current.  Time  is  nionej^  now, 
and  nobody  can  run  a  line  that  means  months  or  weeks 
against  one  that  means  hours.  I  would  not  take  the  Mis- 
sissippi perfectly  equipped  as  a  gift,  unless  I  had  rice  lands 
in  the  delta  I  wanted  overflowed,  or  was  sure  of  a  big  ap- 
propriation from  the  Government  every  year  for  levees. 
That  is  all  the  crooked  old  ditch  is  good  for.     As  a  traffic 


400  EIGHTY-NINE. 

route  it  is  as  useless  as  Noah's  ark    would  be  for  ocean 
travel. 

"  Now  this  '  pool '  will  do  just  what  I  say.  They  ask  no 
questions — don't  want  to  know  what  I  am  doing  or  how  I 
do  it.  They  merely  do  what  I  require.  We  haven't  any 
politics  or  sentiment.  "We  don't  care  wlio  rules  or  pretends 
to  rule.  We  are  willing  any  party  that  chooses  should  have 
the  administration.  In  one  State  we  are  Democrats,  and 
in  another  Republicans.  All  we  want  is  to  control  the 
men  who  are  elected,  so  as  to  be  sure  that  the  solid  men  in 
this  country — those  who  have  made  it  what  it  is — shall 
govern  it.  This  we  are  going  to  do  anyhow;  but  I  think 
you  can  make  it  easier  for  us  and  we  can  make  your  job 
easier  for  you.  I  am  willing  to  admit  frankly  that  we 
think  separation  would  be  a  good  thing  for  us.  You  have 
only  a  few  things  we  shall  ever  want  and  those  you  will  be 
glad  enough  to  export.  The  laws  of  trade  settle  all  that. 
Except  in  form,  you  would  be  just  as  much  a  part  of  the 
country  as  ever.  Now  if  we  had  only  the  West  to  deal  with 
we  could  settle  all  this  labor  matter  in  just  thirty  days. 
If  the  people  knew  just  how  weak  they  are  in  this  fight 
with  combined  capital  they  would  give  it  up  at  once,  and 
then  everything  would  go  on  peaceably  and  fairly  as  here- 
tofore.     We  only  want  a  fair   show — to  live  and  let  live. 

"Just  as  long  as  the  South  has  more  than  half  the 
power  of  government — more  than  half  of  a  majority,  you 
understand,  and  a  majority  is  the  government — we  never 


EIGHTY. NINE.  401 

know  what  we  can  do.  You  have  your  own  notions,  your 
own  grievances  and  your  own  inveterate  sentimentality. 
You  do  not  divide  along  the  same  lines,  reason  from  the 
same  premises,  or  recognize  the  force  of  the  same  argu- 
ments as  we  of  the  North.  You  are  as  foreign  to  us  intel- 
lectually as  we  are  to  Prussia  or  Italy.  Now,  you  want  to 
go  out;  we  can  help  you  if  you  will  help  us.  What  do  you 
say?" 

"  What  method  do  you  propose  ?  "  I  asked,  cautiously. 

"  Oh,  as  peaceable  as  you  wish.  Capital  rarely  wants 
to  fight,  except  to  'bear'  a  country's  bonds  sometimes. 
We  don't  care  how  you  go,  nor  much  about  the  terms. 
You  cannot  assume  any  of  the  debt,  for  your  own  debts 
are  not  worth  quoting  in  the  market." 

'*  That's  because  the  basis  on  which  they  were  con- 
tracted was  destroyed  by  emancipation,"  I  exclaimed. 

"  No  matter;  it's  the  fact.  I  think  you  might  take  the 
territory  including  Texas,  we  will  say.  leaving  us  all  North 
of  that  and  West  of  Missouri,  the  debt  and  the  govern- 
ment.    How  would  that  do  ?  " 

"I  should  think  that  would  be  satisfactory,"  I  said. 
"Quarrels  generally  arise  over  trifles,  and  I  am  not  in 
favor  of  quibbling  about  details." 

''Good!  that  is  the  first  business-like  idea  I  have 
heard  from  your  side  yet.     Now  what  is  to  be  done  ?" 

"A  good  deal,"  I  answered  incredulously. 

"In  detail,  yes,"  he  replied,  beginning  to  walk  back 


402  EIGHTY-NINE. 

and  forth  and  knit  his  brow  ;  "  but  not  so  many  things, 
after  all.  Let  us  see,  Ave  have  to  manage  the  Presi- 
dent, the    Congress,  the   army  and  the  navy." 

*' You  forget  the  people,"  I  suggested. 

"  Bah  !  "  said  he  contemptuously.  "  The  people  ! 
Let  me  tell  you,  Mi-,  Owen,  if  it  was  not  for  the  name  of 
the  thing,  '  the  people,'  as  you  call  them,  would  be  as  glad 
to  have  you  go  as  anybody.  They  are  sick  of  the  'nigger', 
— sick  of  the  South  I  It  is  only  when  the  eagle  squawks  es- 
pecially loud  that  they  think  of  the  last  twenty  years  with- 
out nausea.  Besides  that,  tliese  Labor  fellows  di'ead  the 
'  nigger '  as  bad  as  you.  Not  that  they  are  afraid  of  his 
color  or  care  about  his  fragrance;  the  trouble  with  them 
is  that  he  will  work  for  a  sixpence  if  he  can't  get  a  shilling, 
and  can't  be  organized  for  a  strike.  'The  people,'  Mr. 
Owen,  can  be  managed.  In  fact,  it  is  probable  that  two 
crises  will  coincide." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Well,  you  know,  we  are  to  elect  a  President 
pretty  soon.  The  Labor  party  will  have  a  candidate,  of 
course.  I  do  not  know  what  will  be  his  strength;  but 
the  probability  is  that  a  great  strike  will  follow  unless 
he  is  elected,  which  is  not  likely  to  be  the  result.  That's 
what  we  are  looking  for.  Now,  if  the  people  of  the 
South  are  out  of  the  way,  we  can  manage  them,  and  if 
such  a  thing  happens  they  will  be  very  glad  to  get  rid 
of  vou.  too." 


EIGHTY- NINE  403 

''  I  do  no  see  how  it  is  to  be  accomplished,"  I 
said   doubtingly. 

He  opened  the  door  and  peered  out  upon  the  landing 
before  answering.  Returning  he  sat  down  near  me  and 
said  in  a  clear  whisper  : 

'•  See  here  I  We  are  to  elect  a  President.  Suppose 
the  people  do  )iof  elect  ?  " 

"Then  the  House  of  Representatives  elects?" 

"By  States ;  yes." 

I  started.  The  idea  had  never  occurred  to  me  before. 
He  drew  a  paper  from  his  pocket  and  pointed  to  a  row  of 
figures. 

"  Now  that  this  Labor  party  is  in  the  field,  I  can  make 
it  sure  that  the  people  will  not  elect.  Thent  as  to  the 
Senate  and  House,  if  you  can  manage  the  Southern  mem- 
bers I  can  manage  enough  Northern  ones  to  prevent  a 
quorum  in  either  branch.     What  will  be  the  result  ? " 

I  confessed  that  I  did  not  know. 

"^Well,  I  do.  I  have  not  only  taken  good  legal  advice 
upon  the  matter,  but  have  looked  it  up  myself.  There 
will  be  no  President — and  nobody  authorized  to  act  in  his 
place.  The  law  provides  for  everything  else — death,  dis- 
ability, removal  of  both  President  and  Vice-President^  but 
not  for  a  failure  to  elect  either." 

"  And  then  ?  "  1  asked,  almost  breathless  with  surprise 
at  the  possibility  before  us. 

"Then?"  he  echoed  in  astonishment.     "  Why  then 


404  EIGHTY. NTNE. 

the  Government  will  have  no  legal  head,  and  if  you 
Southerners  cannot  effect  your  purpose  you  have  sadly  de- 
generated since  your  fathers'  days.  Then  the  Union  is 
dissolved,  isn't  it?  No  Executive,  no  government — that  is 
the  legal  status.  Who  is  to  hinder  you  from  making  a 
new  government  to  suit  yourselves,  while  we  patch  up  the 
old  one  to  suit  ourselves  ?  In  whose  name  will  any  one  in- 
terfere, and  by  what  authority  ?  It  seems  to  me  to  be 
exactly  the  opportunity  you  want.  How  does  it  strike 
you?" 


CHAPTER     XLII. 

'^How  does  it  strike  you  ?'"  These  words  Avere  in  my 
ears  as  I  returned  to  my  hotel — the  old-fashioned  down- 
town resort  for  Southern  men  at  which  I  always  staid. 
How  did  it  strike  me  ?  The  plan  struck  me  dumb — by  its 
novelty,  its  simplicity,  its  audacity.  Its  feasibility  was  as 
apparent  then  as  now.  All  that  remained  was  the  question 
of  power  to  secure  the  results  indicated.  I  had  no  doubt 
that  the  Southern  Cross  could  make  good  its  part  of  the 
bargain.  From  the  knowledge  Mr.  Stoningham  had  given 
me  I  did  not  question  liis  ability  to  perform  whatever  he 
undertook.  And  if  this  were  accomjolished — if  the  govern- 
ment were  once  deprived  of  a  legitimate  and  recognized 
executive  head — what  might  not  happen  afterwards  ?  The 
Order  of  the  Southern  Cross  was  pledged  to  peace — peace 
at  any  price  and  under  all  circumstances.  So  large  an  or- 
ganization of  earnest  non-combatants  had  never  been  heard 
of  before.  This  was  not  because  of  any  inclination  to  the 
doctrine  of  non-resistance  on  the  part  of  our  people,  btit 
to  a  singular  and  abiding  faith  among  all  classes  that  by 
this  method  we  could  more  certainly,  readily  and  easily 
succeed. 

It  was  an  admitted  fact  that  only  a  thoroughly  united 

405 


406  EIGHTY-NINE. 

fUid  compacted  North  could  overcome  the  South  in  opeu  con- 
flict. It  was  doubted  even  whether  this  could  be  done  again 
with  the  inducements  that  could  be  offered  to  the  colored 
people  to  espouse  the  cause  of  the  South.  It  was  well- 
known  that  the  tradition  of  Yankee  kindness  and  consid- 
eration for  the  African  had  grown  very  weak  among  them. 
They  had  seen  themselves  abandoned  in  their  hour  of  need. 
Their  prayer  for  protection  in  their  riglits  had  been  un- 
heeded. Laws  were  passed  indeed,  but  tlieir  administra- 
tion was  entrusted  to  the  very  men  who  had  violated  these 
rights.  When  they  asked  for  bread  they  were  given  a  stone! 
When  they  cried  for  knowledge  they  were  referred  to  the 
will  and  pleasure  of  their  old  masters,  who,  nurtured  under 
the  conditions  of  Slavery,  were  doubly  disinclined  to  edu- 
cate out  of  the  poverty  that  remained  to  them  those  whom 
they  thought  to  have  been  wrongly  freed.  However,  they 
did  something — much  more  than  could  have  been  expected 
— while  the  National  Government  did  nothing. 

As  a  result  the  race  was  learning  very  fast  that  the 
whites  of  the  South  v/ere  their  real  friends  and  the  people 
of  the  North  hardly  less  than  their  real  enemies.  If 
worst  came  to  worst,  we  had  no  doubt  that  the  race 
might  be  so  thoroughly  attached  to  our  cause  b}-  judicious 
management  that  three-fourths  of  them  would  be  in  our 
favor,  and  once  fully  committed  in  our  behalf  we  knew 
that  no  more  faithful  and  devoted  allies  could  be  found. 
There    was   something   absolutely  heroic    in  the  pathetic 


EIGHTY. NINE.  407 

steadfastness  with  which  they  had  continued  to  beheve 
in  the  sincerity  of  the  North  in  the  face  of  desertion, 
betrayal  and  contemptuous  disregard,  not  only  of  promises 
written  in  blood  and  ratified  by  thousands  of  lives  lost  in 
the  service  of  the  boastful  republic,  but  also  of  the  rights, 
privileges  and  immunities  the  Nation  had  jarofessedto  con- 
fer upon  theui. 

Not  only  had  we  of  the  South  this  opinion,  but 
throughout  tlia  North  there  was  a  feeling  not  only  that  al- 
liance with  the  negro  was  discreditable,  but  also  that  it 
was  unprofitable,  and  profit  and  loss  is  the  keystone  of  the 
Northern  man's  conscience.  The  Eepublicans  not  only 
felt  a  sort  of  sullen  hostility  to  the  negroes  on  account  of 
the  failure  to  maintain  their  supremacy  at  the  South,  but 
were  beginning  to  allege  that  but  for  the  discredit  brought 
u2:)on  the  party  through  them,  it  would  never  have  lost  its 
supremacy  at  the  North.  Indeed,  its  leaders  were  by  no 
means  oblivious  to  the  apparent  fact  that  if  the  Soutli  were 
really  separated  from  the  Union,  they  would  have  an  over- 
whelming majority  of  what  remained. 

From  all  these  considerations  I  was  satisfied  that  if 
the  plan  indicated  could  be  carried  out — the  country  left 
without  a  recognized  official  head  and  at  the  same  time 
torn  by  conflictiug  faction, — no  attempt  would  be  made  to 
coerce  the  South  against  its  will  to  accept  the  bonds  it  had 
so  persistently  and  heroically  endeavored  to  cast  off.  Al- 
ready  I  could   see  our   object   attained,  the    South  free, 


408  EIG  H  T  Y-  NINE. 

united  and  prosperous  beyond  all  previous  conception  I 
And  for  this  plan  so  easy,  so  simple  and  so  sure,  we 
were  indebted  to  another — a  contemptuous  enemy  who 
threw  it  to  us  as  a  tub  to  the  whale,  in  order  to  make  sure 
of  the  success  of  a  grand  speculative  venture!  To  him  the 
aspiration  of  the  South  was  a  mere  incident. 

'MVe  are  willing  you  should  control  your  'niggers,'" 
he  had  said.  How  hateful  that  common  Southern  term 
always  seems  in  a  Northern  man's  mouth!  It  is  like  hear- 
ing a  man  in  ministerial  garb  profane  the  name  of  God, 
and  I  suppose  springs  from  the  same  feeling.  The  Xorth 
profess  to  regard  the  negro  as  an  equal,  and  "  nigger  '■  in 
the  mouth  of  a  Northern  man  sounds  coarse,  vulgar  and 
self -degrading.  The  Southern  man  professes  no  such  re- 
gard for  his  "  Brother  in  Black,"  or  even  in  black  and  tan; 
and  the  term  in  his  mouth  becomes  only  a  cai'eless  ex- 
pression of  good-natured  contempt.  I  felt  this  and  won- 
dered at  it  when  the  term  dropped  from  the  lips  of  Mr. 
Stoningham. 

Yet  the  plan  was  his,  not  mine.  I  had  been  groping 
for  years  after  what  he  had  found  in  a  moment.  I  felt 
ashamed.  It  is  true,  he  had  approached  the  subject  from 
another  direction  and  was  as  helpless  without  our  assistance 
as  we  without  his;  but  I  regretted  that  for  once  the  South 
must  follow  rather  than  lead.  Yet  there  was  no  doubt 
that  in  this  way  lay  our  hope  of  success.  His  words 
were  like  lightning    flashes    illuminating    the    darkness 


EIGHTY.  NINE.  109 

in  which  1  liad  gi'oped  so  long  in  vain.  It  was  clearly  my 
duty  noAv  to  cooperate  with  this  strange  ally  and  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  discovery  he  had  made  and  the  scheme  he 
had  devised. 

After  the  luminous  exposition  he  had  given  this  did 
not  seem  a  difficult  task.  There  was  no  doubt  that  an 
election  by  the  people  could  be  prevented  if  the  Republican 
candidate  conld  be  defeated.  To  render  this  certain  our 
new  ally  proposed  that  a  "  deal"  should  be  made  with  the 
combined  Labor  and  Prohibition  elements  to  return  Labor 
Electors  in  New  York  and  New  Jersey.  This  seemed 
feasible  and  in  fact  was  easily  arranged,  as  afterward  ap- 
peared. In  order  both  to  induce  the  Labor  party  to  carry 
out  this  bargain  in  good  faith  and  more  certainly  to  prevent 
the  possibility  of  a  popular  election,  they  were  promised 
also  certain  electoral  votes  from  the  South.  As  a  result  of 
these  negotiations  the  difference  between  the  electoral 
votes  which  the  three  candidates  received  was  much  less 
than  any  one  not  informed  of  the  facts  could  have  antici- 
pated. 


CHAPTER  XLTIT. 

This  conversation  quiie  blotted  from  my  mind  for  the 
time  being  the  strange  spectacle  I  had  witnessed  at  the  man- 
sion of  the  millionaire.  1  confess  that  this  impression  it 
produced  upon  me  was  not  at  all  such  as  the  descri^ition  of 
this  unique  affair  in  the  morning  papers  of  tiie  next  day 
would  have  induced  one  to  expect.  It  was  neither  brilliant 
nor  imposing.  Mere  masses  of  minted  gold  are  not  partic- 
ularly attractive  except  to  the  miser's  eye.  It  was  coarse, 
garish,  barbaric, — that  was  all.  I  would  have  said  mon- 
strous, but  the  word  has  too  harsh  a  meaning.  There  was 
nothing  horrid  about  it,  except  the  contemplation  it  pro- 
voked of  the  causes  of  which  it  was  a  consequence. 

I  was  given  one  of  the  coins  and  have  kept  it  as  a  me- 
mento of  that  strange  scene.  It  is  still  fastened  by  a  silver 
link  to  the  iron  cross  which  is  the  symbol  of  our  Order. 
They  represent  two  contrasted  civilizations,  the  one 
founded  on  sentiment  and  the  other  based  on  gz-eed.  They 
term  us  "sentimentalists,"  because  we  esteem  the  man 
above  iiis  possessions,  they  call  themselves  "  practical  "be- 
cause a  man's  acquisitions  are  an  accurate  measure  of  the 
rank  he  holds  m  that  society.  The  pinnacle  of  all  their 
•'  practical ''  aspirations  is  the  apex  of  a  mighty  pyramid  of 
410 


EIGHTY-NINE.  411 

golden  dollars.  One  man  sits  alone  upon  its  summit.  He 
it  is  whom  they  all  envy.  He  is  not  a  king,  but  he  controls 
all  beneath  him — not  by  right  but  by  power.  A  score  or 
two  stand  just  below  him.  Some  thousands  a  little  further 
down.  Some  millions  have  climbed  up  a  little  way 
and  other  millions,  outnumbering  them  all,  stand  shiver- 
ing around  the  base,  waiting  for  some  little  rill,  some 
golden  avalanch,  to  throw  down  those  above  and  scatter 
some  of  the  worshiped  pelf  within  their  reach.  Their 
hope  may  not  bo  vain.  The  man  at  the  top  may  lose  his 
head,  or  be  undermined  by  those  below,  and  through  the 
gap  his  downfall  makes  one  at  the  very  bottom  may  climb 
to  the  very  top.  So  the  struggle  goes  on  and  they  boast- 
fully call  it  a  civilization  based  on  practical  common  sense 
and  true  liberty! 

To  the  ears  of  such  a  people  I  do  not  wonder  that 
the  story  of  such  a  lavish  display  should  prove  irresistibly 
attractive.  The  power  to  scatter  coin,  to  make  display 
of  wealth  which  is  also  to  make  a  display  of  power, — this  is 
the  "  practical  "  ideal,  a  government,  a  civilization,  a  so- 
ciety based  on  business  principles.  The  story  was  repeated 
in  the  sabbath-schools,  the  fact  being  dwelt  upon  with  es- 
pecial unction  that  the  surplus  which  had  contributed  to 
an  hours  amusement  was  thus  withdrawn  from  the  chan- 
nels of  trade  and  consecrated  to  the  relief  of  the  poor.  It 
was  a  golden  text  of  charity,  the  logical  conclusion  from 
which  was  that  every  one  should  strive  to  be  as  rich  as  this 


412  EIGHTY   NINE. 

man  who  liekl  half  a  continent  by  the  throat  and  compelled 
it  to  yield  him  millions  in  tribute  while  he  scattered  a  few 
thousands  among  the  poor  whom  his  rapacity  impoverished. 
To  me  the  picture  was  terrible.  I  saw  a  man  with  a 
noble  nature  and  transcendant  powers,  debased,  belittled 
and  cut  off  from  all  real  sympathy  with  his  fellows  by  his 
load  of  useless  wealth.  I  saw  a  fond  mother  and  devoted 
wife,  with  the  instincts  derived  from  a  Puritan  ancestry, 
greedy  of  good  fruits  from  her  children's  lives  and  anxious 
that  men  should  love  and  honor  her  husband  rather  than 
envy  his  wealth — I  saw  such  a  woman  drawn  by  the  chains 
of  her  love  to  take  part  in  a  garish  display  of  golden 
gains.  Her  love  and  her  ambition  were  satisfied.  Hus- 
band and  children  were  all  she  could  desire  from  a  domestic 
point  of  view, — but  lier  hope?  Ah  me!  that  was  forever 
blasted.  Tlie  world  would  never  know  the  wealth  of  man- 
hood hidden  in  her  husband's  lieart.  To  others  he  was 
but  a  Stylites  on  a  pillar  of  gold.  He  would  never  reach 
their  hearts,  gain  tlieir  love  or  secui'e  their  devotimi.  Be- 
fore the  morning  came  his  steward  sought  to  rob  him.  His 
past  had  been  gi^-en  to  gain  and  his  future  must  be  given 
to  guarding  his  superfluity.  Poor  woman  I  I  realized  more 
clearly  than  ever  the  terrible  weight  that  had  rested  on  my 
Edith's  life  and  thanked  God  that  for  a  little  time  at  least 
she  found  sanctuary  in  that  sweet  Southern  land  where  in- 
satiate greed  and  envy  of  another's  possessions  are  almost 
unknown. 


EIGHT  Y-NINE.  413 

I  esteemed  this  man,  it  is  true,  more  highly  after  this 
than  I  had  ever  done  before;  but  my  dread  of  the  class  and 
tendency  he  represented  was  increased  almost  to  positive 
terror.  It  is  the  most  dangerous  foe  of  Northern  civilization 
and  is  all  the  more  terrible  becanse  its  representatives  sin- 
cerely believe  that  they  have  a  right  to  get  all  they  can 
through  impersonal  agencies,  and  hold  the  same  for  their 
individual  behoof  without  blame. 

This  man  was  no  doubt  the  soul  of  honor  when  acting 
for  himself  and  in  his  own  name.  ■  I  do  not  doubt  that  as  a 
man  he  is  not  only  just  but  equitable  in  his  dealings  with 
his  fellows.  As  the  head  of  the  Eock  Oil  Trust,  he  would 
coolly  execute  a  plan  that  would  beggar  a  thousand  or  ten 
tiiousand  at  a  stroke,  and  draw  his  share  of  the  dividends 
without  a  remorseful  twinge  I 

Into  the  hands  of  such  men  the  power  of  our  sister 
republic  is  fast  drifting,  if  they  have  net  already  secured 
full  control  of  it.  The  conflict  there  is  not,  as  so  many  short- 
sighted theorists  have  averred,  between  the  capitalist  and 
the  mere  laborer,  but  between  the  over-gorged  capitalist  and 
the  great  host  of  enterprising  self-employers,  whose  hope  is  at 
the  best  to  secure  a  modest  competency.  This  class  is  rapidly 
disappearing  and  the  alternative  which  the  future  pre- 
sents is  in  most  cases  that  of  servitude  or  supremacy. 
The  percentage  of  those  who  work  for  wages  at  the  North 
is  daily  increasing,  while  at  the  South  it  is  constantly 
diminishing.       The   proportion    of   independent  self-em- 


414 


EIOHTY-XINE. 


ployers  at  the  Xurth  is  decreasing  with  amazing  rapidity; 
while  with  us  it  is  as  rapidly  increasing.  The  tendency 
there  is  towards  feudalism  based,  not  on  courage 
or  descent,  but  on  accumulated  wealth.  With  us  the 
tendency  is  as  yet  towards  simple  comi)etency.  The 
reign  of  exclusive  privilege  based  on  ISlavery  has  disap- 
peared. Competition  is  fast  breaking  up  the  old  man- 
orial estates,  and  opportunity  has  not  yet  been  great 
enough  to  establish  the  inile  of  the  millionaire.  We  have 
a  few.  God  grant  tluit  the  number  may  never  mcreasel 
Pauperism  and  undue  accumulation  go  hand  in  hand.  A 
people  that  raises  millionaires  by  the  hundred  will  always 
have  paupers  by  the  hundred  thousand.  We  have  very 
few  of  either;  may  their  ratio  never  increase! 


CHAPTER   XLIV, 

There  was  the  usual  clamor  and  excitement — accusa- 
tion, defence  and  mutual  malediction — attending  the  Pres- 
idential election  of  1888.  There  were  speeches  and  pa- 
rades, fireworks,  banners  and  unprecedented  display. 
Importers  and  traffickers  shouted  for  free  trade;  manufact- 
urers, for  tariff;  workmen  for  shorter  hours  and  more  pay, 
and  all  for  liberty  and  prosperity.  Primaries  were  bought : 
conventions  packed;  parties  organized;  bets  and  predic- 
tions made.  The  North,  as  usual,  had  a  host  of  parties 
and  factions,  each  with  its  candidates.  There  were  Ee- 
publicans  and  Democrats;  Labor  Reformers  and  Prohibi- 
tionists ;  Woman's  Rights,  and — I  know  not  how  many 
more  aspirants  for  favor  and  j)atronage.  In  the  South 
there  were  Democratic  and  Independent  electoral  candi- 
dates only.  How  many  of  those  who  saw,  or  even  were  a 
part  of  this  strange  hurly-burly  dreamed  of  the  forces  that 
lay  beneath  ? 

The  Democrats  were  confident  and  the  Republicans 
sanguine.  The  result  surprised  and  confounded  both. 
When  the  votes  were  counted  at  the  close  of  the  conflict 
it  was  found  that  no  President  or  Vice-President  had  been 
elected  !     The  House   of   Representatives  would   have  to 

415 


416  EIGHTY- NINE. 

choose  a  President  and  the  Senate  a  Yice-Peesident! 
It  was  a  result  inexplicable  upon  any  theory  of 
party  relations  knownto  the  managers  on  eitlier  side.  The 
Republicans  attributed  their  defeat  to  an  unprecedented 
growth  of  the  Labor  movement  in  New  York  and  New  Jersey. 
The  Democratic  leaders,  knowing  of  the  deal  in  those  States, 
assigned  as  the  cause  of  their  defeat  an  entirely  unexpected 
development  of  the  Labor  sentiment  in  Kentucky  and  Texas. 
Neither  charged  the  result  to  either  of  the  forces  actually 
responsible  for  it — the  Monopolists'  "  Pool  "  and  the  Order 
of  the  Southern  Cross. 

In  the  contest  before  the  House,  neither  party  was 
Avithout  hope.  The  members  had  been  elected  two  years 
before  and  both  the  House  and  the  Senate  were  so  evenly 
divided — the  one  by  States  and  the  other  in  Members — 
that  almost  any  result  was  deemed  possible  except  the  one 
that  actually  occurred.  Indeed,  it  was  thought  quite 
probable  that  a  President  of  one  party  and  a  Vice-Pi'esi- 
dent  from  the  other  might  be  the  outcome.  That  neither 
would  be  chosen  was  never  dreamed  of  as  a  possibility.  By 
some  curious  fatality  this  was  the  only  contingency  for 
which  the  Federal  staf/ttes  failed  to  provide.  If  neither 
President  or  Vice-President  was  chosen  before  the  Fourth 
of  March,  there  would  be  no  one  authorized  to  exercise 
authority  or  even  to  order  an  election  !  The  line  of  suc- 
cession would  be  broken  without  any  established  method  of 
supplying  the  defect. 


EIGHTY-MIN  E.  417 

The  election  of  the  chief  executive  ofiBcers  by  the  Legis- 
lative branch  ef  the  Federal  Government  was  a  function 
which  had  been  so  seldom  exercised  that  its  forms 
and  limitations  were  matters  of  tradition  rather  than 
knowledge.  JSTot  a  man  was  living  who  had  taken  part  in 
such  a  proceeding.  The  wisest  knew  only  what  the  dullest 
might  learn  in  an  hour.  The  House  of  Eepresentatives 
voting  as  States,  was  required  to  elect  a  President,  a  major- 
ity of  the  members  present  from  each  State  controlling  its 
vote.  If  they  were  equally  divided,  the  State  cast  no  vote. 
In  other  words,  the  Eepresentatives  from  each  State  consti- 
tuted an  independent  electoral  college.  It  resulted  from 
these  curious  conditions  tliat  a  little  more  than  one-fourth  the 
Members  of  the  House  could  elect  a  President,  provided 
they  were  a  majority  in  each  of  the  smaller  States,  Avhile 
two-thirds  might  be  unable  to  do  so  if  they  happened  to 
represent  only  the  lai-ger  States.  It  required  a  majority  of 
all  the  members  present  from  each  of  twenty  States  to  elect. 
If  any  State  was  unrepresented  it  still  counted  in  the  aggre- 
gate. A  majority  of  members  in  each  one  of  a  majority  of 
all  the  States  was  required  to  choose  a  President.  In  the 
Senate  the  process  was  simpler.  Each  Senator  was  entitled 
to  one  vote  and  a  majority  of  the  whole  number  of  Sena- 
tors was  all  that  was  required  to  elect  a  Vice-President. 

These  were  the  elements  out  of  which  the  authorities 
of  the  Southern  Cross  and  the  ''pool "  of  combined  Monopo- 
lists had  to  organize  success— in  other  words,  to  secure  bv 


418  EIGHTY. NINE. 

lawful  and  peaceful  means  an  absolute  failure  to  elect 
either  of  the  two  highest  executive  officers  of  the  nation. 
The  problem  seems  intricate;  but,  as  will  be  seen,  the 
means  by  which  it  was  solved  were  of  the  simplest  charac- 
ter. Its  apparent  difficulty  has  given  rise  to  the  wildest 
and  most  absurd  speculation  in  regard  to  the  methods  em- 
ployed in  accomplishing  this  result.  So  far  as  they  are 
known  to  me  I  shall  relate  them  truly,  both  for  the  sake 
of  my  associates  and  for  the  instruction  of  the  future. 


CHAPTER  .XLV. 

The  idea  is  prevalent  among  the  people  of  our  sister 
republic  that  the  then  President  of  the  United  States  and 
certain  members  of  his  cabinet  were  privy  to  our  designs 
and  lent  themselves  to  their  accomplishment  for  their  own 
personal  advantage.  This  rumor  has  brought  upon  these 
gentlemen  undeserved  odium.  They  were,  of  course,  all 
aware  of  the  existence  of  the  Order  of  the  Southern  Cross, 
and  the  Southern  members  of  the  cabinet  were  entitled  to 
wear  its  badge.  Owing  to  the  peculiar  constitution  of  the 
Order,  however,  this  did  not  imply  any  knowledge  of  its 
designs. 

The  President  himself,  like  all  the  people  of  the 
North,  no  doubt  looked  upon  our  Order  as  a  mere  piece  of 
Southern  sentimentality, — a  safety-valve,  perhaps,  for  im- 
pulses which  if  unwisely  restrained  might  prove  dangerous. 
Certain  it  is,  that  until  the  memorable  third  day  of  March, 
when  the  absence  of  the  Southern  Eepresentatives  made  an 
election  of  President  impossible,  there  Avas  hardly  a  suspi- 
cion on  the  part  of  those  uninformed  of  our  designs,  of  any 
purpose  to  execute  a  coup  d'etat.  The  President  was  indeed 
aware  of  the  treaty  made  with  the  representatives  of  the 
Labor  party,  by  which  the  Democratic  vote  in  New  York  was 
given  to  men  pledged  to  cast  the  electoral  vote  of  that  State 

419 


420  EIGHTY. NINE. 

for  the  Labor  candidates  ;  in  return  for  which  the  Labor 
vote  in  Indiana,  Connecticut  and  Jsew  Jersey  was  to  be 
given  to  the  Democratic  electors.  He  supposed  this  ar- 
rangement, or  "  deal,"  as  it  would  be  termed  in  the  politi- 
cal vernacular  of  the  North,  was  intended  simply  to  pre- 
vent the  possibility  of  Kepublican  success  and  make  his 
own  election  a  certainty,  as  it  would  no  doubt  have  done, 
had  not  Texas  and  Kentucky  chosen  the  Electors  of  the 
Labor  party.  The  votes  of  our  Order  in  the  States  named 
were  given  for  the  Labor  party  under  the  express  advice 
and  direction  of  the  Grand  Master,  with  the  assent  of  the 
Supreme  Council.  This  was  done  simply  because  it  was 
judged  expedient  for  our  purpose  that  the  President  should 
not  be  re-elected,  and  ought  of  itself  to  be  a  sufficient  an- 
swer to  the  charge  of  privity  with  our  designs. 

These  things  were  a  great  surprise  to  tlie  people  of  the 
whole  country,  tlie  President  included.  Even  when  he  saw 
the  that  result  was  to  throw  the  election  into  the  House 
of  Eepresentatives  he  did  not  perceive  our  purpose.  In 
sixteen  States  the  majority  of  Eepresentatives  was  Dem- 
ocratic ;  two  were  evenly  divided  ;  in  two  others  the  gain 
of  one  man  in  each  would  result  in  a  tie  ;  while  enough 
Representatives  from  two  more  were  absent,  to  neutral- 
ize the  vote  of  the  State.  The  President,  who  had 
a  curious  belief  in  iris  own  good  fortune,  did  not 
doubt  that  the  ultimate  result  of  this  state  of  affairs 
would  be  the  choice  of  himself  as  his  own  successor. 


EIGHTY-NINE.  421 

There  were  three  candidates  who  had  received  electoral 
votes  ;  and  from  these  it  was  not  doubted  by  any  except 
the  few  who  were  privy  to  our  phxns,  that  a  selection 
would  be  made  during  the  twenty-one  days  intervening 
between  the  second  Wednesday  of  February,  when  the 
Joint  Convention  was  held  to  count  the  electoral  votes, 
and  the  Fourth  of  March,  when  the  new  Presidential 
term  would  begin.  It  was  generally  supposed,  also,  that  in 
case  of  a  failure  to  elect  either  a  President  or  a  Vice-Pres- 
ident, the  Secretary  of  State  would  perform  the  duties  of 
the  office  until  another  election  could  be  held,  though  as 
afterward  appeared,  this  was  u  matter  of  mere  impression 
rather  than  of  logical  conclusion.  This  fact  served  to  hold 
the  Democrats  firm,  and  the  President  believed  that,  rather 
than  see  the  office  fall  to  the  Secretary  by  a  questionable 
construction,  enough  Eepublicans  would  come  to  him 
to  secure  his  election. 

In  this  belief,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  he  never  wavered 
until  the  morning  of  the  third  of  March  arrived  and  the 
houses  of  Congress  met  to  find  the  Senate  without  a  quo- 
rum of  memuers,  and  the  House  without  a  quorum  of  States. 
This  condition  of  affairs  continued  throughout  the  day.  ]S"o 
effort  sufficed  to  discover  the  hiding  place  of  the  recusant 
members.  At  midnight  the  Secretary  of  State  took  the 
oath  of  office  as  President  before  a  Judge  of  the  Supreme 
Court  of  the  District  of  Columbia,  the  Chief  Justice  of 
the  United  States  declining  to  perform  the  ceremony  lest 


422  ^i(^  H  T  Y-  N 1 NE. 

the  act  should  disqualify  him  from  sitting  in  judgment 
upon  the  legality  of  the  succession.  At  twelve  o'clock  on 
the  Fourth  of  March  the  recent  Secretary  issued  his  in- 
augural address,  setting  forth  the  circumstances  attending 
his  assumption  of  the  functions  of  the  Chief  Magistrate  jjro 
tempore,  and  calling  the  Congress  to  meet  in  extra  session 
at  an  early  day.  This  state  of  affairs  produced  considerable 
uneasiness  throughout  the  North.  The  Secretary  evidently 
did  not  feel  secure  in  his  seat  and  the  nation  he  bestrode 
naturally  felt  restive  under  his  assumed  guidance. 

Until  the  appearance  of  this  proclamation  the  ex- 
President  did  not  seem  to  realize  that  his  official  life  was 
ended.  Indeed  it  appeared  almost  impossible,  even  then, 
for  him  to  comprehend  the  completeness  of  his  downfall. 
From  being  the  head  of  a  great  nation  he  had  suddenly 
fallen  below  even  his  original  insignificance.  The  fact  that 
the  nation  was  passing  tlirough  a  crisis  which  must  be 
perilous  and  might  be  fatal,  hardly  seemed  to  affect  his  con- 
sciousness. Once  satisfied  that  he  had  nothing  more  to  hope 
for  in  connection  with  the  presidential  office,  he  seemed  to 
think  only  of  getting  himself  and  his  belongings  away  from 
the  seat  of  his  transitory  greatness. 

To  his  successor's  offer  of  a  reasonable  time  to  remove 
his  effects  from  the  White  House,  he  vouchsafed  only  a 
most  ungracious  response.  Despite  the  self -absorption 
which  blinded  him  to  all  thought  of  his  country's  danger, 
there  was  a  sullen   independence   about  his   unexpected 


EIGHTY-NINE.  423 

leave-taking  which  commanded  a  sort  of  respect.  It  is 
safe  to  say  that  in  no  measure  connected  with  his  adminis- 
tration did  he  manifest  so  much  vigor  or  more  genuine 
executive  ability  as  in  his  hasty  preparations  for  removal. 

His  faithful  private  secretary  had  taken  the  precaution 
the  day  before  to  draw  the  last  quarter  of  his  patron's 
salary  and  deposit  it  in  bank.  Summoned  by  the 
irate  ex-Magistrate  to  give  an  account  of  his  stewardship 
of  the  privy  purse,  he  was  able  at  a  moment's  notice  to 
state  the  amount  on  hand  and  the  outstanding  obligations. 
In  short,  sullen  sentences  he  was  directed  to  liquidate  these 
and  make  instant  preparation  for  the  removal  of  certain 
personal  effects  and  the  sale  of  others.  This  done,  the 
tireless  agent,  only  half  realizing  his  master's  downfall, 
took  the  train  for  New  York.  As  the  sun  went  down,  the 
recent  master  of  the  White  House  followed  a  dray-load  of 
trunks  to  the  railway  station.  His  personal  staff  had  disap- 
peared, dismissed  almost  without  thanks.  The  servants  of 
the  White  House  witnessed  his  departure  with  ill-concealed 
anxiety  respecting  their  own  future. 

As  he  drove  through  the  streets  of  the  capital  his  at- 
tention was  concentrated  upon  the  van  on  which  his  bag- 
gage was  piled.  He  seemed  as  unconscious  of  the  fact  that 
the  significant  portion  of  his  life  had  closed  as  he  had  been 
of  its  beginning.  As  the  carriage  rolled  unattended  down 
the  avenue,  he  seemed  as  impassive  as  when,  four  years  be- 
fore, he   sat  in  the  Senate  Chamber  waiting  for  the  cere- 


4a4:  EIOHTY-NINE. 

monies  of  his  inauguration  to  begin.  Never  a  personal 
favorite  with  the  peojile,  but  few  of  those  who  recognized 
him  and  compreliended  what  was  taking  place,  followed 
the  carriage  with  kindly  looks  or  sorrowful  farewell.  Many 
sneered,  some  liissed.  and  a  few  gave  vent  to  taunts  which 
must  have  reached  his  ears  ;  but  he  gave  no  sign  of  having 
heard.  At  the  train  a  little  crowd  collected  for  a  last  cu- 
rious glance.  He  attended  himself  to  the  checking  of  his 
trunks,  but  waved  no  farewell  and  showed  no  conscious- 
ness that  his  exit  from  the  stage  where  he  had  played  a 
curious  and  by  no  means  unimportant  part  was  a 
matter  of  any  moment  to  others.  I'he  next  morning,  i 
am  told,  he  left  the  faithful  secretary,  to  whom  he  owed 
whatever  of  success  he  had  enjoyed,  standing  hat  in 
hand  upon  the  wind-swept  wharf,  hardly  nodding  to  him  a 
careless  adieu  as  he  sailed  with  his  family  and  personal  be- 
longings for  a  foreign  shore.  Since  that  time  he  has  en- 
joyed in  placid  ease  and  undisturbed  obscurity  the  baths  of 
Homburg,  that  favorite  resort  of  dethroned  royalty,  whose 
waters  seem  to  have  an  especial  attraction  for  victims  of 
political  disaster. 

His  departure, — it  was  in  no  sense  a  flight, — was  per- 
haps unfortunate  for  his  renown.  For  that,  however,  he 
cared  little.  He  enjoyed  preferment  simply  because  it 
added  to  his  personal  consequence.  He  delighted  to  be 
President  merely  because  it  gave  him  an  individual  import- 
ance that  no  one  else  could  enjoy  at  the  same  time.     He 


EIGHTY. NINE.  425 

liked  the  Chief  Magistracy  witliout  any  thought  of  doing 
honor  to  the  position  or  making  his  incumbency  notable  by 
great  events.  His  idea  of  government  was  a  purely  personal 
one.  He  thought  of  everything  connected  with  it  as  his. 
He  spoke  of  his  office,  his  cabinet,  his  administration,  and 
even  designated  the  Executive  mansion  as  '•  the  President's 
House." 

Taking  him  all  in  all,  he  was  perhaps  the  most  singu- 
lar combination  of  attributes  that  was  ever  elevated  to  the 
headship  of  any  government.  Personally,  he  had  so  few 
friends  that  they  might  almost  be  counted  on  the  lingers  ; 
and  even  for  these  he  had  no  perceptible  attachment  after 
they  ceased  to  be  contributory  to  his  personal  comfort  and 
aggrandizement.  Politically,  he  seems  to  have  been  the  re- 
sult of  a  series  of  accidents  to  which  he  bore  neither  intellect- 
ually nor  morally  any  causative  relation.  To  the  very  last  his 
political  views  were  so  ill-defined  as  to  be  a  matter  of  con- 
jecture even  to  his  adherents,  except  on  one  subject  on 
which  he  seems  to  have  been  driven  merely  by  the  hope  of 
securing  his  own  re-election,  to  express  an  opinion  so  un- 
mistakable as  to  be  afterwards  a  source  of  unmitigated 
regret.  If  induced  by  any  to  make  a  positive 
delaration  the  first  breath  of  public  clamor  drove  him  at 
once  to  denial  or  explanation.  This  was  true  of  every 
public  expression  which  he  used  except  that  animosity  for 
the  Federal  soldier.  In  this  he  never  wavered.  To  seem 
positive  and  to  he  indefinite  was  his  idea  of  political  sa- 


42G  EIGH  T  Y-NIX  E . 

giicity.  He  seemed  to  regiird  the  courteous  acknowledge- 
ment of  favor  as  somehow  an  impeachment  of  his  own 
super-excellence.  To  him  who  flattered  his  personal  vanity 
he  gave  freely  ;  for  him  who  asked  on  the  score  of  personal 
merit  he  had  only  sullen  refusal.  He  loved  himself 
so  well  that  he  hated  every  one  who  intimated  tliat  he  had 
ever  received  or  ever  might  require  assistance. 

He  is  not,  however,  in  any  sense  deserving  of  the 
anathemas  which  the  people  of  the  North  have  visited 
upon  him  since  the  close  of  his  term.  The  simple  fact  is 
that  he  did  not  regard  the  failure  to  re-elect  him  as  a  law- 
ful end  of  his  oflBcial  career.  To  him  it  is  a  dethronement, 
— a  forced  abdication.  He  deems  himself  to  have  been  un- 
justly deprived  of  a  personal  right,  and  left  the  country  he 
could  no  longer  rule  simply  to  show  the  indignation  which 
he  felt. 

It  is  a  curious  infatuation,  but  I  am  all  the  more  sat- 
isfied that  it  is  real,  because  I  personally  know  that  the 
generally  received  hypothesis  in  regard  to  his  motives  is 
false.  The  truth  is  that  he  laid  claim  to  but  one  essential 
merit — honesty.  Even  this  was  not  of  a  particularly  exal- 
ted character.  The  boast  of  his  adherents — he  had  not 
many  real  admirers — was  that  he  would  do  what  he  thought 
to  be  right  unless  overpersuaded,  misled  or  in  some  manner 
deflected  from  the  path  of  duty  by  external  influence. 
From  first  to  last,  this  was  the  excuse  assigned  for  all  his 
acts  Avhich  resulted  tmfavorably  to  the  public  interest  or 


EIGHTY-NINE.  4-^7 

failed  to  satisfy  his  party's  exi^ectution.  This  sort  of  hon- 
esty, whioh  seems  to  be  of  the  commonest  and  cheapest 
tyi>e,  both  he  and  his  supporters  vaunted  with  the  utmost 
persistency,  and  it  was  accepted  by  many  of  his  political  op- 
ponents as  indicative  of  exceptional  qualities  ;  so  that  the 
country  presented  the  curious,  spectacle  of  men  assailing  the 
acts  of  the  administration  and  at  the  same  time  excusing  and 
defending  its  responsible  head  with  the  utmost  fervor.  The 
people  of  the  Xorth  are  extravagantly  fond  of  subtle  distinc- 
tions. 

Perhaps  nothing  could  better  show  the  very  low  ebb 
which  public  morality  had  reached  at  the  Xorth,  than  the 
fact  that  even  such  common  rectitude  as  this  was  applauded 
as  exceptional,  until  the  object  of  adulation  undoubtedly 
thought  himself  a  man  of  phenomenal  if  not  unpreceden- 
ted integrity.  There  can  be  no  question  that  he  came  at 
length  to  regard  himself  as  the  most  notably  honest,  if  not 
the  only  entirely  honest  man  who  had  served  the  nation  as 
its  chief  executive  since  the  days  of  the  immortal  Washing- 
ton. Laboring  as  he  did  under  this  curious  delusion,  it  is 
absurd  to  think  that  he  directly  enriched  himself  at  the  pub- 
lic expense  to  the  value  of  a  single  farthing.  Certainly  he  was 
neither  bribed  nor  trusted  by  the  Grand  Council  of  the 
Southern  Cross — not  that  we  would  have  hesitated  to  resort 
to  bribery,  had  it  been  necessary;  since  it  is  as  fair  to  buy  an 
enemy  as  to  overpower  him,  esjiecially  one  so  unscrupulous  in 
the  use  of  mercenary  influences  as  ours — but  there  was  no 


428  EIGHTY-NINE. 

need  to  do  so,  since  his  cooperation  was  not  required  and 
his   opposition  not  feared. 

That  sucli  a  man  sliould  have  become  the  chief  magis- 
trate of  a  great  nation,  is  in  itself  a  most  amazing  fact.  It 
could  never  have  occurred  had  not  the  Northern  people  pos- 
sessed the  most  singular  characteristics.  Instead  of  be- 
ing proud  of  their  great  men  they  seem  to  grow  jealous 
of  notable  achievement.  They  are  always  on  the  lookout, 
too,  for  the  exceptional  and  marvelous.  A  people  of  the 
liveliest  imaginat-ion,  they  clothed  silence  with  the  golden 
garb  of  wisdom  and  filled  vacancy  with  amazing  possibility. 
Inertness  was  accounted  merely  the  absence  of  dangerous 
ambition  ;  lack  of  aspiration  the  confidence  of  conscious 
greatness  ;  uncertainty  and  obscurity  the  cloud  in  which 
wisdom  hid  grand  designs.  Strange  as  it  may  seem^ 
Mr.  Cleveland  had  risen  from  the  most  obscure  estate  to 
the  very  highest  Avitliout  having  been  known  to  express  an 
opinion  upon  any  public  question,  llis  adherents  pointed 
to  this  fact  as  evidence  of  remarkble  sagacity,  and  not  only 
the  people  but  Mr.  Cleveland  bimself  accepted  tbis  curious 
conclusion.  The  fact  that  he  liad  not  been  great,  or  wise  or 
brave,  was  regarded  as  conclusive  evidence  that  he  would  be. 

Pernaps  the  most  singular  of  all  the  phases  of 
his  anomalous  career,  was  the  fact  that  it  is  even 
yet  unknown  on  whicli  side  his  sympathies  were  during  the 
great  War  for  Separation.  He  was  then  a  young  man  and 
would  luiturally  be  expected  to  have  positive  convictions 


EIGHTY-NINE.  4;i9 

one  way  or  the  other.  So  far  as  disclosed  by  the  most 
heated  personal  canvass  ever  witnessed,  however,  no  one 
ever  knew  him  to  express,  either  orally  or  in  writing,  any 
opinion  as  to  the  merits  of  the  controversy  during  the 
entire  four  years  of  conflict  between  the  Confederate  States 
and  the  Union.  His  adherents  attributed  this  to  sagacious 
reticence  ;  his  opponents  to  cowardice  and  stolidity. 
Both  were  in  error.  He  simply  had  no  thought  that 
the  result  would  ever  affect  his  personal  interests  and 
so  did  not  trouble  himself  to  form  an  02:)iuion  or  have  any 
preference  in  the  matter.  Except  to  furnish  a  substitute 
when  '^conscripted,"*  he  is  not  known  to  have  had  any 
relation  whatever  to  the  war  waged  against  the  Confed- 
eracy. This  naturally  made  him  acceptable  to  the  South, 
though  no  man  of  such  colorless  neutrality  could  have  been 
chosen  to  any  position  of  honor   within  her  limits. 

It  was  no  doubt  to  this  peculiarity  that  the  most  dis- 
tinctive feature  of  Mr.  Cleveland's  administration  was  due. 
He  seemed  to  entertain  a  personal  animosity  against  those 
who  had  been  soldiers  of  the  Federal  army,  especially  the 

*I  am  aware  that  the  use  of  this  word  is  cited  by  Mr.  Mat- 
thew Arnold,  as  evidence  of  a  lack  of  culture  on  the  part  of  Gen. 
Grant.  As,  however,  it  appears  in  the  manuscript  of  Grand  Mas- 
ter Owen,  has  been  used  by  the  entire  press  and  people  of  the 
South  since  the  passage  of  the  first  conscription  act,  early  in  1862, 
and  was  sanctioned  by  the  official  usage  of  the  Confederate  gov- 
ernment, its  officers  and  generals  without  exception,  I  am  satis- 
fied to  err  with  them  and  allow  it  to  remain. 


430  EIGHTY-NINE. 

volunteers  wlio  returned  after  its  close  to  civil  life.  It  is 
probable  that  he  considered  their  patriotic  devotion  an  ex- 
press imputation  upon  his  own  lack  of  interest  in  the  great 
struggle.  The  one  fixed  principle  of  his  political  conduct 
seemed  to  be  a  conviction  that  the  people  of  the  Xorth  had 
had  enough  of  soldiers  and  were  tired  of  patriotism.  He 
seemed  to  think  that  the  surest  way  to  public  favor  lay  in 
treating  those  who  had  sav.ed  the  country  from  disruption 
as  vagabonds,  who,  having  no  longer  any  public  enemy  to 
plunder,  had  turned  upon  the  nation.  As  if  to  emphasize 
the  fact  of  personal  antipathy  to  this  particular  class,  he 
approved  a  service  pension  to  the  survivors  of  the  Mexican 
war,  two  thirds  of  whom  were  residents  of  the  South,  while 
preventing  even  the  decrepid  and  impoverished  veterans 
who  resisted  the  demands  of  the  Confederacy,  from  receiv- 
ing like  favor. 

In  this  estimate  of  N^orthern  sentiment  he  was  not  en- 
tirely at  fault.  Many  of  the  most  prominent  of  his  politi- 
cal opponents  applauded  his  course  in  this  respect.  Indeed 
the  one  man  among  them  all  who  never  hesitated  to  pro- 
claim himself  the  type  of  perfect  purity  and  his  peculiar 
notion^  the  ultima  thulc  of  wisdom — the  head  and  front  of 
a  singular  company  of  self-worshiping  apostles  of  me- 
chanical merit — did  not  hesitate  to  proclaim  him  almost, 
if  not  quite  the  grandest  character  that  Xation  had  ever 
produced.  It  is  true,  this  man  believed  that  all  merit  was 
assessable  at  a  fixed  valuation  and  that    patriotism  might 


EIGHTY-NINE.  431 

be  accurately  gauged  upou  a  graded  scale  of  excellence. 
He  was  the  leader  of  those  who  in  order  to  accomplish  one 
good  purpose,  were  willing  to  debase  the  sentiment  of  a 
whole  people — who  sought  to  make  the  dollar  mark  not 
only  the  symbol  of  value  but  the  sole  measure  of  merit — 
who  would  root  out  of  the  popular  mind  the  sentiment  of 
gratitude  and  honor,  degrade  the  soldier  to  the  level  of  the 
pauper  and  subordinate  every  national  impulse  to  a  mere 
economical  test.  It  is  not  so  strange  that  this  man  should 
have  worshiped  the  President.  There  was  a  sort  of  affinity 
between  them  and  he  was  incapable  of  seeing  any  fault  in 
one  who  extolled  the  idea  of  which  he  thought  himself  the 
originator  and  which  he  devoutly  believed  was  destined  to 
secure  an  ideally  perfect  government,  from  which  human 
impulse  should  be  eradicated  and  under  which  human 
sentiment  subordinated  to  intellectual  merit  scientifically 
ascertained  and  marked  with  unerring  accuracy  by  an 
infallible  system.  The  really  curious  thing  was  that  such 
a  man  as  the  last  President  of  the  great  Eepublic  should  be 
accepted  as  the  type  of  the  best  Northern  thought  and  that 
a  people  who  had  been  ready  to  tarn  and  rend  any  one  who 
proposed  the  least  reduction  of  the  capitalist's  demands, 
should  look  with  such  contemptuous  scorn  upon  a  soldiery 
whose  claim  to  consideration  was  blood,  shed  in  successful 
defence  of  the  national  life,  rather  than  a  debased  currency 
thriftily  exchanged  for  a  promise  wrung  by  terror  from  the 
nation's  lips.     It  is  but  another  evidence  that  the  true  hero, 


432  EIGHTY. NINE. 

according  to  the  Northern  standard,  is  the  successful  specu- 
lator rather  than  the  self-forgetful  patriot.  The  Federal 
soldier  fought  for  half  the  price  of  a  farm  laborer  and  took 
his  pay  in  depreciated  money  ;  the  Northern  capitalist  paid 
for  his  bond  in  a  debased  currency  and  demanded  pay  in 
gold.  Yet  the  former  was  regarded  as  an  ungrate- 
ful pauper  and  the  latter  as  the  type  of  the  worthy  pa- 
triot. 

It  was  no  doubt  a  subtle  appreciation  of  this  fact  that 
induced  the  President  to  indulge  his  own  personal  pique 
by  such  bitter  and  repeated  denunciation  of  the  survivors 
as  ''  willing  dupes  of  reckless  demagogues."  that  if  the 
Republican  party  had  been  wise  enough  to  oppose  to  him 
a  candidate  whose  record  was  of  a  less  questionable  charac- 
ter for  courage  and  devotion  than  his  own,  it  might  perhaps 
have  been  impossible  to  have  prevented  their  success. 
A  mere  economic  issue  is  a  poor  reliance  for  any  party. 
Sentiment  cannot  at  once  be  frozen  out  of  a  people's 
nature  and  if  the  Republicans  had  dared  trust  to  the 
impulses  which  first  gave  them  power — the  universal 
instinct  of  Justice  and  equality — it  is  doubtful  if  any 
influence  could  have  prevailed  against  them.  In 
nothing  was  the  Divinefavor  more  distinctly  manifested  to 
our  cause  than  in  the  singular  blindness  which  hid  from 
them  their  great  opportunitv.  So  complete,  however,  is 
the  moral  debasement  of  the  people  of  the  North  that  her 
political  leaders  devoutly  believe  that  success  in   any  par- 


EIGBTT-NINE.  433 

ticular  conflict  is  but  a  question  of  dollars  and  cents. 
Skill  in  organization,  chicane  and  money  are  the  ar- 
guments in  which  they  place  confidence,  and  this  is  the 
only  logic  in  which  their  leaders  excel. 

For  myself,  I  must  say  I  pitied  the  ex-President  far 
more  for  what  he  was  than  for  what  he  lost.  If  the  time 
ever  comes  when  the  people  of  the  Southern  Republic  pre- 
fer such  negative  merit  to  positive  excellence  in  a  :hief 
magistrate,  I  trust  that  his  administration  may  be  as  fatal 
to  our  new  nationality  as  was  his  to  the  Federal  Union. 
Such  a  preference  indicates  a  decadence  of  public 
spirit  and  patriotic  ardor  far  more  fatal  to  a  country's 
glory  than  revolution,  war  or  subjugation.  It  is  no  doubt 
to  this  lesion  of  patriotic  impulse  at  the  North  that  we  of 
the  South  are  indebted  for  the  success  of  our  attempt  to 
secure  autonom}'. 

The  influences  that  controlled  this  singular  man  were 
of  a  very  peculiar  character.  Not  only  did  he  entertain 
the  belief  that  he  really  determined  the  policy  of  his 
administration,  but  he  managed  to  produce  upon  the 
general  public  and  even  upon  many  prominent  men  of 
his  own  party  the  impression  that  he  was  a  man  of  great 
firmness  and  exceptional  devotion  to  the  welfare  of  the 
country.  This  resulted  mainly  from  his  oft-repeated  pro- 
testations of  absolute  purity  of  purpose  and  invincible  de- 
termination to  do  the  right  in  spite  of  the  malign  and 
hostik  ^"nfluences  by  which  he  persisted  in  declaring  that  he 


434  EIOHTY-NINE. 

was  constantly  surrounded.  His  errors  were  always  labori- 
ously excused,  either  as  the  unauthorized  acts  of  subordi- 
nates the  results  of  accident  or  a  want  of  knowledge  of  par- 
ticular facts.  With  the  legislative  branch  of  the  government 
he  was  constantly  at  war,  and  he  did  not  hesitate  to  impeach 
the  intelligence  and  sincerity  of  all  who  failed  to  recognize 
his  pre-eminence.  He  rarely  opened  his  mouth  or  touched 
his  pen  except  to  protest  his  own  purity,  excuse  his  shortcom- 
ings or  impugn  the  motives  of  others.  Whoever  opposed 
his  views  or  failed  to  laud  his  conduct  he  counted  a 
personal  enemy.  Compared  with  the  course  pursued  by 
his  own  party  towards  his  predecessors,  he  was  treated  with 
distinguished  consideration  by  his  opponents  in  Congress, 
yet  he  never  failed  to  manifest  the  utmost  malignity  and  re- 
sentment towards  his  opponents  in  the  legislative  branch  of 
the  government.  His  veto  messages  cnitnumbered  those 
written  by  all  of  his  predecessors.  In  this  fact  he  took  es- 
pecial pride,  supposing  it  would  be  regarded  as  infallible 
proof  not  only  of.his  superiority  but  also  of  the  corrupt  and 
venal  character  of  his  opponents. 

In  point  of  fact,  no  man  was  ever  more  easily  con- 
trolled. Of  his  Cabinet  he  made  the  most  prominent  member, 
a  man  who  had  committed  the  serious  offencs  of  being  an  as- 
pirant for  the  place  which  he  had  himself  secured,  the  scape- 
goat of  his  most  serious  errors.  There  were  two  forces  which 
dominated  almost  without  exertion  the  whole  tenor  of  his, 
admiaistration — the  great  Petroleum  ]\[onopoly,  represented 


EIGHTY-NINE.  435 

by  one  whose  entire  political  significance  was  due  to  his  in- 
timate relations  with  more  than  one  of  its  managers,  and  the 
South,  represented  by  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  of 
any  age — one  of  the  few  men  who,  without  incurring  per- 
sonal peril,had  become  distinguished  as  a  Confederate  leader, 
and  afterwards  had  made  himself  indispensable  to 
the  nominal  head  of  his  party  in  the  re-established  rejiub- 
lic.  The  former  influenced  his  chief  by  assuming  that  the 
President  would  sanction  whatever  he  did.  lie  neither 
asked  nor  argued.  If  a  matter  required  the  formal  sanction 
of  his  superior,  he  merely  prepai'ed  the  papers  and  in- 
formed the  President  that  his  signature  was  necessary. 
He  did  not  trouble  the  great  man  with  details  or  theories, 
nor  ask  any  instructions,  but  took  the  management  of  his 
Department  off  the  shoulders  of  the  President  as  a  mat- 
ter of  favor  and  relief  to  that  supposedly  overworked 
official.  The  latter  was  a  man  who  despised  the  emblems 
of  authority  but  loved  the  exercise  of  j^ower.  He  was  the 
real  head  of  the  government.  He  swayed  the  man  who 
thought  himself  his  master  by  subtle  and  unfailing  knowl- 
edge of  his  character.  Everything  he  did  or  intimated  Avas  in 
the  President's  name.  He  .s?/^/^^^^^^?  decisions,  excuses,  and 
protests.  Between  him  and  the  representative  of  the  great 
Monopoly  there  was  never  any  difference.  He  smiled  at  the 
other's  arrogant  assumption,  knowing  well  that  he,  too,  was 
"but  the  servant  of  a  master  whose  power  he  did  not  compre- 
hend.    It  was  a  notable  fact  that  the  President  never  at- 


436  EIGHTY-NINE. 

tributed  any  of  the  errors  for  which  he  was  responsible  to 
either  of  these  men.  Few  suspected  the  power  of  the  most 
potent,  and  it  ma}'  be  doubted  if  the  President  himself 
knew  by  whose  will  his  acts  were  really  guided. 

Of  course,  the  presence  of  these  men  in  the  Cabinet 
was  of  great  assistance  to  us,  but  we  made  no  dishonorable 
use  of  our  advantage.  By  this  means  we  were  able  to  fore- 
stall the  action  of  the  government,  but  except  in  minor  mat- 
ters, such  as  the  disposition  of  the  army  and  navy  at  the 
crisis  of  our  c02(p,  such  action  was  never  intended  to  pro- 
mote our  cause.  Even  in  those  instances  it  was  not  so  in- 
tended by  the  President  and  I  doubt  if  more  than  one  of 
his  advisers  realized  the  possible  effect  of  the  course  they 
adopted. 


CHAPTER    XLVI. 

Though  we  owed  the  suggestion  of  our  first  step 
towards  peaceful  separation  to  the  head  of  the  Combined 
Monopolists,  we  are  indebted  for  the  plan  by  which  the  ad- 
vantage thus  secured  was  made  effective,  to  that  remarka- 
ble man  who  had  been  the  real  brain  and  conscience  of  the 
self-expatriated  President.  It  was  worthy  of  his  ability 
and  audacity,  yet  in  its  elements  so  simple  that  it  seemed 
strange  it  should  not  have  occurred  to  any  one,  especially 
after  the  hint  received  from  Mr.  Stoningham.  It  was 
carried  into  effect  by  inducing  the  Southern  members  of 
the  incoming  Congress  to  refrain  from  qualifying  and  the 
Southern  Senators  to  absent  themselves  from  the  delibera- 
tions of  that  body.  This  so  changed  the  political  com- 
plexion of  the  two  assemblages  that  it  became  necessary  for 
some  of  the  Northern  Democratic  members  to  do  likewise 
and  by  this  means  prevent  a  quorum  lest  the  Republicans 
should  secure  control  of  both  Houses.  As  the  recalcitrant 
members  had  never  qualified  they  could  not  be  brought  in 
by  the  mandate  of  the  House,  nor  could  the  minority  pro- 
ceed to  notify  the  Governors  of  the  various  States  that  va- 
cancies existed  in  the  several  districts  thereof.  In  fact, 
there  were  no  vacancies — only  the  men  elected  and  certified 

did  not  see  fit  to  qualify  and  act.     This  was  a  state  of  things 

437 


438  EIGHTY-NINE. 

which  no  existing  legishition  was  adequate  to  meet  and  of 
course  no  remedy  could  then  be  provided  M-ithout  a  quorum 
in  each  house.  No  one  had  ever  dreamed  of  this  weak  spot  in 
the  Federal  armor  unless  it  were  the  masterly  intellect  which 
first  made  its  impress  in  the  judicial  annals  of  the  country 
by  the  magnificent  array  of  authorities  and  unanswerable 
logic  of  "  Ex  Parte  Garland." 

Before  the  consternation  resulting  from  a  knowledge 
that  the  national  government  was  in  a  state  of  susj^tended 
animation,  without  recognized  executive  head  or  any 
legally  constituted  legislative  department  had  died  away  at 
the  North,  it  was  renewed — perhaps  I  ought  to  say  re- 
doubled— by  the  resignation  of  the  Southern  members  of 
the  Cabinet  upon  the  ground  that  the  government 
had  lapsed  by  reason  of  the  failure  to  elect  a  successor  to 
the  President  and  the  lack  of  any  person  legally  authorized 
to  exercise  his  duties  ad  interim.  They  felt  compelled, 
they  said,  to  protest  against  the  usurpation  by  the  late 
Secretary  of  State,  of  the  functions  of  the  Chief  Execu- 
tive, lest  their  further  silence  should  be  construed  to  imply 
concurrence  therein.  They  also  held  that  a  contempora- 
neous failure  of  Executive  and  Legislative  authority 
acted  as  an  effectual  dissolution  of  the  Federal  Union, 
its  powers  lapsing  eo  instanti  to  the  several  constituent 
republics  from  which  they  were  originally  derived.  This 
being  the  case,  as  individual  citizens  of  sovereign  States, 
once  more  clothed  with  autonomv  by  the  failure  of  the 


EIGHTY-NINE.  439 

Federal  pact,  and  not  iiaviug  been  authorized  by  their  re- 
spective States  to  do  anything  tending  to  j)reserve  even  the 
form  of  a  National  Government,  they  felt  bound  to  with- 
draw all  connection  with  or  constructive  recognition  of  a 
spurious  and  usurpative  organization.  This  document  was 
addressed  '*  To  the  People  of  the  States  of" — naming  first 
the  original  thirteen  States  of  the  old  Union  and  then  the 
others  in  the  order  of  their  admission — but  not  referring  in 
any  manner  to  the  ''United  States,"'  as  a  political  integer. 
Upon  the  ajjpearance  of  this  document,  the  people  of 
the  North  took  alarm  and  offers  of  military  and  other  sup- 
port came  pouring  in  upon  the  self-constituted  President 
pro  tempore,  who  had  acted  in  the  utmost  good  faith  and 
no  doubt  desired  both  to  perpetuate  the  Union  and  promote 
the  welfare  of  all  the  States.  He  was  not  only  weak  and 
vain  but,  what  was  far  more  prejudicial  to  his  purposes, 
vacillating  in  the  extreme.  He  had  little  confidence  in 
others  and  less  in  himself.  Besides  that,  he  had  long 
doubted  the  possibility  of  peri^etuating  the  Federal  Union 
for  any  considerable  period,  believing  a  constitutional  mon- 
archy modelled  on  that  of  Great  Britain,  to  be  not  only  es- 
sential to  national  stability  but  also  preferable  as  a  political 
organization.  These  sentiments  he  intimated  in  an  ad- 
dress to  "  The  People  of  the  United  States,"  which  he  pro- 
mulgated as  a  counterblast  to  that  of  the  withdrawing 
officials.  This  doctrine  which  was  emphatically  concurred 
in  by  the  de  facto  head  of  the  Navy,  raised  a  storm  of  angry 


UO  EIGHT  Y-  JVJ  NE. 

deiiimciation  at  the  Xorth  and  dcstro3'ed  the  hist  vestige  of 
respect  for  these  pseudo  representatives  of  national  au- 
thority. 

The  Governors  of  several  of  the  Northern  States  at 
once  assembled  at  Harrisburg,  renns3dvania,  and  organized 
themselves  into  a  voluntary  Council  of  Public  Safety, 
alleging  an  intent  on  the  part  of  the  South  to  renew 
the  attempt  at  forcible  disruption  of  the  Union. 
This  was  answered  by  the  prompt  assembling  of  the 
governors  of  all  the  Southern  States  at  liichmond,  Virginia. 
They  indignantly  denied  the  aspersions  cast  u2)on  the 
patriotism  and  loyalty  of  the  people  of  the  South,  and, 
while  alfirming  their  own  concurrence  in  the  views  ex- 
pressed by  the  members  of  the  Cabinet  who  had  recently 
withdrawn,  they  declared  their  determination  to  supjoress 
by  the  most  vigorous  means  any  attempt  on  the  jiart  of  any 
organized  body  to  prevent  the  reorganization  of  the  Federal 
Union.  They  even  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  if  any 
number  of  the  States  of  the  North  should  seek  by  concur- 
rent action  to  exercise  the  powers  that  lately  inhered  in  the 
Federal  Union,  they  might  be  assured  that  the  people  of 
the  South  would  quietly,  if  not  cheerfully,  submit  thereto, 
though  they  were  confident  that  no  true  son  of  the  South 
would  ever  hold  office  or  exercise  any  political  function 
under  or  by  virtue  of  such  authority.  This  proclamation 
was  addressed  to  the  people  of  the  various  States — naming 
them — and  was  followed   at  once  by  the  resignation  of 


EIGHTY-NINE  441 

every  Federal  officer  at  the  South,  saving  and  exceiHing 
some  few  Judges  of  the  Federal  courts — an  insignificant 
remainder  of  the  days  of  "  carpet-baggers  "  and  "  scalla- 
wags."  These  resignations  were  all  on  the  same  form,  ad- 
dressed to  the  people  of  the  several  states,  and  duplicates 
were  forwarded  to  the  respective  Departments  at  Washing- 
ton, as  well  as  to  the  Governors  of  states  in  which  the  officials 
resided.  The  mails  were  still  carried  throughout  the  South, 
but  no  reports  were  made  to  any  so-called  Federal  official. 
The  Federal  courts  were  not  held  in  these  States  because 
they  were  without  ministerial  officers.  The  world  moved 
on,  but  the  wheels  of  the  Federal  machinery  had  stopped 
throughout  the  South  and  moved  but  sluggishly  and  uncer- 
tainly at  the  North. 

Whether  the  doctrine  enunciated  by  the  shrewd  and 
capable  ex-minister  was  correct  in  theory  or  not,  may  be 
hard  to  determine.  Why  the  doctrine  of  a  de  facto  excc- 
ecutive  should  not  apply  as  well  to  a  Secretary  of  State 
improperly  usurping  the  functions  of  the  Executive,  as 
to  a  President  unlawfully  holding  over,  I  have  never  been 
able  to  determine.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  Avhole 
doctrine  depends  in  the  main  ujion  the  capacity  of  the  de 
facto  Executive  to  rule  and  govern.  At  all  events,  there 
was  soon  manifested  on  every  hand  an  inclination  to  con- 
cur in  the  idea  that  the  collective  sovereignty  had  lapsed 
by  non-user,  and  that  the  union  was  thereby  resolved  into 
its  original  elements.     The  minorities  of  the  two  houses 


442  EIGHTY-NINE. 

of  Congress  continued  to  meet  from  day  to  day  but  did 
nothing  ;  indeed  tliey  could  do  nothing.  For  a  time  there 
were  signs  of  bitterness  on  the  part  of  the  press  and  people 
of  the  North.  This  gradually  subsided  before  the  pacific, 
non-resistent  policy  of  the  South.  Conventions  of  the  jjeo- 
ple  were  called  in  all  the  States.  In  the  Northern  States 
*'  to  consider  the  state  of  the  Union;'"  in  the  Southern  States 
**  to  consider  matters  of  the  liighest  importance  to  the  peo- 
ple of  the  State.'' 

No  sooner  had  these  various  bodies  met  than  it  be- 
came apparent  that  the  revolution  was  practically  accom- 
plished. The  States  of  the  North  recognized  thf3  impos- 
sibility of  compelling  an  unwilling  people  numbering  more 
than  twenty  millions  to  cooperate  in  a  government  they  had 
openly  renounced  but  resolutely  declined  to  oppose.  They 
knew,  too,  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  govern  them  by 
force  of  arms.  The  shameful  experience  of  the  "Recon- 
struction ''  period  came  up  before  them  with  mocking  vivid- 
ness. There  were  some,  indeed,  who  clamored  about 
"Liberty  and  Union,  one  and  inseparable,"  l)ut  they  were 
ridiculed  as  sentimental  enthusiasts.  What  the  people  of  the 
North  desired,  it  was  soon  learned,  was  some  jiractical  meas- 
ure by  which  the  confusion  and  expense  of  war  might  be 
avoided,  the  payment  of  the  public  debt  be  secured  and  they 
be  permitted  to  resume  and  continue  undisturbed  their 
gainful  avocations.  There  were  a  few  hot-headed  fanatics 
whose  sectional  hate  even  the  lapse  of  time  could  not  appease, 


klOHTT-NINE.  443 

who  still  shrieked  for  freedom  and  raved  about  the  rights 
of  the  negro.  Taken  as  a  whole,  however,  the  people  of 
the  North  were  well  typified  by  Burnside's  soldiers  in  the 
crater  before  Petersburg,  who  shot  down  the  negro  com- 
rades who  fled  for  shelter  to  the  yawning  chusm  where 
they  lay  hid  rather  than  face  the  consequences  of  being 
captured  in  their  company. 

This  has,  indeed,  been  the  tenor  of  the  whole  political 
relation  of  the  Xortli  to  the  negro.  They  were  desir- 
ous enough  to  use  him,  to  stop  bullets  or  cast  ballots: 
and  were  willing  to  recompense  him  with  anything  which 
cost  neither  money  nor  manhood .  When  it  became  necessary 
to  expend  either  care  or  cash  in  his  behalf,  however,  they 
became  at  once  blind  to  his  need  and  deaf  to  his  entreaty. 
The  sneer  of  one  Southern  white  man  outweighed  with  them 
the  welfare  and  the  woe  of  a  thousand  negroes.  The  South  has 
much  to  regret  and  much  to  amend  in  her  dealings  with 
the  colored  man.  The  problem  of  the  co-existence  of  the 
races  has  always  been  one  of  diiSculty,  even  of  danger  ;  but 
she  has  no  such  record  of  hypocrisy,  betrayal  and  cowardly 
desertion  as  the  people  of  the  North  have  been  accustomed 
to  regard  with  boastful  complaisance.  To  this  record 
they  now  added  what  from  their  standpoint  must  be  re- 
garded as  a  crowning  infamy.  They  abandoned  the  negro 
to  those  whom  they  had  steadily  averred  for  three-quarters 
of  a  century  were  his  implacable  enemies. 

The   Northern  State    conventions   were     practically 


444  EIOHTY-NINE. 

as  unanimousas  those  of  the  South.  They  recommended 
an  Advisory  Committee  of  two  from  each  State  to  meet 
a  like  delegation  from  each  of  the  Southern  States, 
to  devise,  if  possible,  a  basis  of  future  organic  union.  The 
Soutliern  conventions  responded  by  designating  a  like 
number  of  delegates,  to  meet  them  and  ''arrange,  if 
possible,  for  peaceful  separation  and  harmonious  confeder- 
ation." Of  course,  much  more  was  said  and  done  during 
this  interval  of  uncertainity.  Many  things  occurred  which 
to  the  public  mind  seemed  of  more  importance  than  those 
which  I  have  noted.  If  I  were  writing  a  romantic  nar- 
rative I  should  dwell  on  other  and  more  exciting  phases  of 
the  great  struggle  waged  by  peaceful  methods  under  the 
unspotted  banner  of  the  Order  of  the  Southern  Cross  ! 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

.  The  great  strike  whicli  was  expected  in  the  summer 
of  1888  did  not  take  place.  To  the  surprise  of  all,  the 
railroads  and  telegraph  lines  voluntarily  increased  the  pay 
and  reduced  the  hours  of  nearly  all  their  employes.  They 
also  acceded  to  the  request  which  the  associated  laborers 
had  hardly  dared  to  insist  on,  that  every  employe 
charged  with  misconduct  should  be  entitled  to  have  the 
facts  judicially  determined  by  arbitrators  before  being  dis- 
charged. This  unexpected  favor  transformed  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  men  in  their  employ  from  discontented  slaves 
into  loyal  henchmen. 

This  with  other  things  so  stimulated  the  political 
hopes  of  the  leaders  of  the  labor  movement  that  they  judged 
it  wiser  to  avoid  any  conflict.  The  season,  itself,  follow- 
ing two  years  of  drouth,  was  one  of  almost  unprecedented 
fertility.  The  country  had  never  been  so  prosperous,  had 
never  seemed  so  peaceful  and  had  never  appeared  more 
likely  to  continue  undisturbed  for  an  indefinite  time. 

In  the  midst  of  this  profusion  and  apparent  peace,  the 
astounding  increase  of  the  vote  of  the  Labor  party  fell 
like  a  bomb  among  those  who  were  predicting  an  indefinite 
continuance  of  existing  conditions.  It  was  evident  that 
neither  concession  nor  prosperity  had  served  to  mitigate  its 

445 


446  ETGIITY-NINF. 

demands.  While  it  had  only  succeeded  in  choosing  its 
Electors  in  a  few  States,  in  almost  all  the  others  it  had  dis- 
played an  unexpected  strength,  not  only  securing  a  very 
respectable  minority  in  the  Legislatures  of  all  the  North- 
ern States,  but  had  so  demoralized  its  competitors  as  to 
be  able  to  dictate  legislation.  Many  who  had  been  chosen 
as  representatives  of  the  old  parties,  indeed,  went  wholly 
over  to  the  new  organization.  Flushed  with  this  unex- 
pected success  they  renewed  the  warfare  on  capital  and 
nuiny  very  stringent  laws  were  proposed,  and  in  some 
instances  enacted,  in  restriction  of  what  were  deemed  the 
immutable  rights  of  capital. 

This  conflict  served  to  divert  the  attention  of  the 
North  from  the  gravity  of  the  National  crisis  arising  from 
the  non-election  of  President  and  Vice-President.  Indeed, 
the  i3eople  of  the  North  had  so  thoroughly  cow  viuced  them- 
selves by  constant  iteration  that  there  could  never  again 
arise  any  serious  question  of  a  sectional  character,  espe- 
cially with  the  South,  that  I  doubt  if  any  revelation  of  our 
design  would  have  been  credited  by  them.  To  find  the 
Federal  government  acephalous  as  to  its  executive  branch 
and  absolutely  Avithout  legislative  existence,  surprised  and 
astounded  them  but  awakened  very  little  resentment.  The 
unanimity  with  which  our  people  refused  to  take  any 
part  m  re-establishing  the  wrecked  nationality  annoyed  and 
discouraged  them  bat  did  not  awaken  any  general  feeling 
of  anger.      They  were  too   absorbed   in   their  own  affairs 


EIGHT  Y-NI NE.  447 

to  pay  much  attention  to  the  whimsicalities  of  a  people 
whose  motives  they  could  not  understand. 

The  Commission  appointed  by  the  Conventions  of  the 
various  ]N"orthern  and  Southern  States  to  arrange  a  basis  of 
re-union — or  if  that  should  be  impossible,  to  agree  upon 
terms  of  separation — met,  as  every  one  knows,  at  Louisville, 
Kentucky,  on  the  Fourth  of  July.  I  had  the  honor  of  be- 
ing chosen  as  its  President  by  a  unanimous  vote,  and  I 
have  reason  to  believe  that  at  the  conclusion  of  its  labors 
not  a  single  member  would  have  changed  the  ballot  he  cast 
in  my  favor.  The  confidence  thus  reposed  in  me  is 
the  proudest  recollection  of  my  public  life.  That 
my  own  countrymen  should  trust  me  after  what  had  been 
accomplished  would  hardly  be  accounted  a  matter  of  sur- 
prise; but  that  strangers  knowing  well  my  sentiments  should 
without  solicitation  offer  me  the  post  of  honor,  may 
well   be  counted  a  matter  of  excusable  self-gratulation. 

The  work  of  the  Commission  was  from  the  first  pecu- 
liarly harmonious.  It  contained  men  of  all  shades  of  oi^in- 
ion  but  its  members  were  of  the  highest  character 
and  many  of  them  of  world-wide  reputation.  For  patriotism, 
learning  and  ability  it  was  probably  unsurpassed  by  any 
body  of  men  ever  assembled  on  the  continent.  It  consisted 
of  two  men  from  each  State,  and  it  really  seemed  as  if  every 
State  had  endeavored  to  select  its  wisest  and  best  for  this 
last  common  council  of  the  States  which  had  for  a  century 
composed  one  nation.     Some  came  to  beg  for  union,  others 


448  EIGHTY-NINE. 

to  protest  against  restraint.  But  almost  from  the  first,  it 
Avas  ajjpareut  that  persuasion  ■would  be  vain  and  protest 
unnecessary. 

In  the  discussion  of  the  subject  of  union  or  separation, 
I  noticed  a  curious  fact.  The  North  and  the  South 
seemed  to  have  changed  places.  The  representatives  of  a 
"practical"  civilization  and  "  a  government  based  on  busi- 
ness principles  "  had  only  sentimental  considerations  to  of- 
fer for  the  continuance  of  the  Union;  while  the  representa- 
tives of  the  "  sentimental  "  South  dealt  wholly  in  practical 
arguments,  in  the  little  they  had  to  say  upon  the  subject. 

Our  Northern  brethren  were  the  chief  speech-makers. 
They  seemed  to  admit  that  separation  was  a  foregone  con- 
clusion if  the  South  persisted  in  its  demands.  The  histor- 
ical appeal  of  Mr.  Evarts  in  behalf  of  the  traditional 
Union  was  especially  affecting  to  the  older  members 
of  the  Commission,  going  back  as  it  did  to  colonial  times, 
Avith  which  he  seemed  much  more  conversant  than  with  re- 
cent affairs.  Mr.  George  William  Curtis  made  a  brilliant 
and  erudite  argument  upon  the  benefits  which  might  be  ex- 
pected to  result  from  the  English  Civil  Service  which  he  had 
recently  been  instrumental  in  borrowing  for  American  use. 
Many  of  our  Southern  delegates  were  much  intei'ested  in 
his  finely  rounded  periods  and  graceful  delivery.  The  doc- 
trine did  not  seem  to  have  been  calculated  for  this  merid- 
ian, however,  and  so  produced  little  impression.  Mr.  Kelley, 
of   Pennsylvania,  delivered   a  long  speech  in  a  basso  pro- 


EIGHTY. NINE.  449 

fundo  worthy  of  tlie  gravity  of  the  subject,  upon  the  bene- 
ficent results  of  "Protection  for  American  labor."  The  elo- 
quent Senator  from  Indiana  appealed  to  the  patriotic  im- 
pulses of  the  South  and  portrayed  the  especial  need  wliich 
the  new  Northwest  created,  for  the  restraining  influences  of 
Southern  conservatism  to  prevent  the  Northern  peo^^le 
from  drifting  into  anarchy.  Other  touching  and  eloquent 
appeals  were  made  by  the  Northern  members,  begging  the 
South  to  remain  in  the  TJiiion  for  the  sake  of  their  various 
constituencies. 

All  these  speeches  were  answered  by  the  brief  remarks 
of  the  most  practical  and  sagacious  of  the  Southern 
delegates.  He  said  he  had  listened  with  interest  to  all 
that  had  been  said  and  was  willing  to  admit  both  the 
premises  and  conclusions  of  every  argument  that  had  been 
made.  He  could  understand  the  need  and  advantage  of  the 
old  Union  or  its  equivalent — to  the  North.  What  he  wanted 
to  hear,  if  anybody  had  such  a  thing  to  offer,  was  an  argu- 
ment showing  what  advantage  such  a  Union  would  or  could 
be — to  the  South.  The  only  thing  of  this  sort  attempted 
was  to  show  that  the  North  paid  a  larger  share  of  the  ex- 
penses of  the  Federal  Government,  which  was  triumphantly 
refuted  by  demonstrating  that  it  had  also  consumed  a 
greater  proportion  of  the  revenue  and  derived  far  greater 
benefits  and  advantages  from  its  existence.  After  this 
it  became  apparent  to  all  that  our  only  task  was  to  ar- 
range terms  of    separation  as  equitable  and  satisfactoi-y 


450  EIGHTY-MNE. 

m  possible  to  both  sections  and  all  interests.  The  re- 
sult of  our  action  is  well  known.  Its  wisdom  time  alone 
can  avouch. 

During  the  session  of  this  body,  I  was  frequently  struck 
with  the  contrast  between  the  motives  prof essed  by  different 
individuals  and  the  forces  which  1  knew  to  be  at  work  com- 
pelling them  to  the  conclusions  on  which  they  acted.  While 
there  was  a  suppressed  anxiety  to  get  rid  of  the  South  ap- 
parent in  the  readiness  with  which  the  Northern  memberg 
abandoned  their  opi^ositiou  after  the  most  eloquent  protests, 
there  was  not  the  most  remote  allusion  to  the  advantages 
which  either  wing  of  Northern  thought  expected  to  gain 
by  neutralizing  an  uncertain  factor  in  national  affairs. 

When  our  labors  Avere  nearly  comj)leted,  the  plan 
which  had  been  agreed  upon,  and  the  address  which  was  to 
accompany  it  having  been  referred  to  the  committee  for 
final  revision,  I  was  surprised  one  evening  *  by  a 
request  from  Mr.  Stoningham  that  I  would  accompany 
him  that  night  in  his  private  car  to  Indianapolis,  returning 
in  time  for  tlie  morning  session.  He  requested  me  not 
to  mention  the  matter  to  any  one,  but  merely  meet  him  at 
the  station  which  he  would  see  that  I  reached  again  in  am- 
ple time  for  the  next  day's  duties. 


*The  the  word  "evening  "  is  here  used  in  the  usual  Southern 
sense,  meaning  afternoon. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

It  was  on  this  occasion  that  I  M^as  first  informed  of 
that  master-stroke  by  which  combined  capital  established 
its  absolute  control  of  the  Northern  republic — a  con- 
trol which  is  the  basis  of  a  new  Feudalism  whose  power  it 
will  require  generations  if  not  centuries  to  break.  I  found 
Mr.  Stoniugham  standing  on  the  steps  of  one  of  those  mir- 
acles of  luxury,  the  private  car  of  a  railroad  magnate — a 
mansion  on  wheels  in  which  one  might  at  that  time  travel  fifty 
thousand  miles  without  crossing  a  national  boundary  and 
almost  without  passing  twice  over  the  same  mile  of  road. 
He  nodded  to  an  employe  as  he  grasped  my  hand.  The 
signal  was  given  and  the  train  which  had  just  backed  into 
the  station  steamed  out  again,  and  before  we  had  reached 
the  other  side  of  the  river,  we  were  busily  engaged  in  dis- 
posing of  an  abundant  dinner  which  was  M^aiting  to  be 
served. 

We  were  the  sole  occupants  of  the  car,  except  a  stenog- 
rapher and  electrician  who  occupied  a  forward  compart- 
ment containing  a  complete  telegraphic  outfit.  Every 
now  and  then  as  we  j^assed  a  station  the  clerk  would  come 
in  with  a  bundle  of  dispatches  to  which  my  host  would  dic- 
tate answers  almost  without  interrupting  our  conversation. 
Twice  we  ran  upon  a  side-track  for  a  train    to    pass,  and 

451 


45-2  EIGHTY. nine: 

while  we  waited  the  wires  were  tapped  and  his  messages 
sent  without  leaving  the  car. 

**  Well/' said  Mr.  Stuuingham,  after  the  dinner  was 
over  and  we  were  alone  with  our  cigars,  ^'how  goes  the 
Commission?" 

I  told  him  briefly  the  state  of  affairs. 

"  Grood  !  "  said  he,  sharply.  *'  You  think  they  will 
not  be  ready  to  adjourn  for  three  or  four  days  ?  " 

*'  Three,  I  should  say  at  least,"  I  answered. 

•*  You  could  make  it  four  I  suppose?" 

"  Probably,  if  there  is  any  special  need." 

"  Exactly.  Well,  I  can  soon  show  you  that  it  is  a 
necessity.  During  the  few  months  that  the  Government 
has  been  dragging  along  without  a  head  and  minus  a  tail, 
-things  have  been  developing  pretty  rapidly  and  we — the 
capitalists  I  mean — have  made  up  our  minds  that  we  miglit 
as  well  have  the  whole  matter  over  with  at  once.  Have  you 
any  idea  what  I  am  out  this  way  for  ?  " 

"  Xot  in  the  least,  unless  you  take  an  interest  in  what 
we  are  doing." 

"■  Not  a  particle,  as  I  told  you  once  before,  except  as 
it  bears  on  our  business  relations  and  conditions  here  at  the 
North.  I  think  you  can  help  us  and  we  can  help  you,  and 
both  get  what  we  want.  Tliat  is  the  reason  we  are  pull- 
ing together.  I  think  we  can  make  sure  of  the  acceptance 
of  the  report  your  Commission  will  make  by  all  the  North- 
ern States,  and  you  can  help  us  to  settle  our  affairs  inoui^ 


ETGUTY-NINE.  .        453 

own  way  if  yon  will  ouly  let  me  manage  the  matter  on  this 
side  the  line  according  to  my  own  notions." 

"  But    why    do    you    wish    the    adjournment    de- 
layed ?" 

"  Simply  in  order  to  let  the  members  understand  what 
is  before  them." 

'*  You  do  not  intend  any  violence  ?  " 

"  Nothing  more  than  making  them  walk  home  ! "  he 
answered  with  a  laugh. 

'*  I  do  not  understand  you." 

*'  Probably  not,  and  yet  we  have  given  fair  warning. 
We  had  a  man  in  Congress — one  of  the  most  prominent 
members,  too,  cheek  by  jowl  with  a  man  who  came  near  be- 
ing President — who  blurted  the  whole  thing  out  four  or 
five  years  ago.  I  don't  know  how  he  came  to  get  hold  of 
it.  Of  course  it  has  been  talked  of  on  the  sly  for  a  good 
while,  but  everybody  knew  he  could't  keep  his  mouth  shut, 
so  I  wonder  he  was  ever  allowed  to  hear  of  it. 

"  It  is  just  this.  You  know  the  war  that  has  been 
made  on  capital  by  the  political  kleptomaniacs  of  the  North 
for  the  last  few  years.  Railroads,  telegraphs,  telephones, 
and  in  fact  all  corporate  and  combined  capital  has  been  the 
object  of  the  bitterest  attack.  They  insist  that  while  laborers 
have  a  right  to  organize  and  strike,  capitalists  have  no  right 
to  combine  for  their  own  advantage.  Of  course  this  is  simply 
absurd.  If  Labor  has  a  right  to  organize — and  we  do  not 
deny  it — so  has  Capital.     '  What  is  sauce  for  the  goose  if. 


454  EIGHTY-NINE. 

sauce  for  the  gander/  you  see.  Tliat  is  fair — always  was 
fair  and  always  must  be  fair.  If  it  is  lawful  for  me  to  carry 
on  any  business,  it  is  equally  lawful  for  me  to  associate 
others  with  me  and  form  a  partnership  ;  or  still  others  and 
form  a  corporation;  or  to  combine  everybody  in  the  business 
and  form  a  "  Trust,"  giving  each  one  his  share.  Of  course 
it  squeezes  out  the  small  fry,  but  it  makes  things  cheaper 
and  prevents  trouble  with  employes  and  the  like.  When 
all  businesses — or  all  that  are  susceptible  of  it — are  man- 
aged in  this  way  there  will  be  no  more  strikes. 
Can't  be,  you  see.  Every  man  will  know  he  has  got  to 
keep  the  place  he  has  or  be  out  of  a  job.  There  won't  be  any 
need  of  black-listing  them,  either,  for  all  will  be  employed 
by  the  same  concern  and  nobody  can  bUime  a  man  for  not 
employing  a  man  he  has  once  turned  off. 

"  Well,  these  Western  and  Xorth western  States  have 
gone  wild  over  the  matter,  especially  since  the  election. 
They  '  want  the  earth '  and  swear  they  are  going  to  have  it 
too.  So  they  have  been  legislating  in  every  way  to  destroy 
business.  We  thouglit  of  getting  up  a  panic  last  year, 
with  some  hope  of  securing  for  President'a  man  we  could 
manage  and  who  had  sense  enough  to  do  our  work.  That  was 
before  I  saw  you,  Cleveland  would  have  done  well  enough, 
but  he  could  think  of  nothing  but  himself  and  had  a  fac- 
ulty for  putting  his  foot  in  things  that  we  could  not  trust. 
The  deal  we  made  with  you  worked  well  enough,  only  it 
inflated  the  Labor-thieves  at  the  North  and  demoralized 


EIQBTT'NINE. 

everybody  else.  They  have  done  nothing  but  legislate 
against  "  Trusts "  and  corporations  and  capitalists  ever 
since. 

"  We  have  stood  it  just  as  long  as  we  can  and  have 
finally  determined  to  precipitate  a  crisis  and  have  it  over 
along  with  your  affair.  We  increased  our  Protective  Pool 
several  months  ago  to  five.  I  am  still  the  head  of  it,  but  I 
needed  help.  I  am  not  familiar  enough  with  the  details  of 
railroading,  telegraphiug,  etc.,  to  attend  to  all  these  things 
myself.  Oil  and  natural  gas  I  know  all  about.  So  a  son 
of  the  great  telegraph  king,  and  a  rej)resentative  of  the 
railroad,  coal  and  iron  interests  as  well  as  a  representative 
of  all  combined  interests,  was  put  on  to  assist  me.  We 
"  forked  up  the  rhino," — enough  to  insure  success — and  put 
it  in  the  bank  of  England,  where  it  will  be  safe  and  nobody 
can  touch  it, — and  began  to  got  ready. 

"  What  did  we  do  ?  Well,  we  gave  every  business  that 
was  of  any  importance  the  wink — that  is,  we  said  nothing  but 
advised  that  certain  things  be  done.  It  don't  take  much  to 
give  a  business  man  a  hint.  As  a  result  all  our  banks  have 
the  bulk  of  their  specie  stored  abroad;  supplies  of  all  kinds 
are  well  distributed  and  there  are  no  great  stocks  of  anything 
in  transit.  We  have  looked  out  for  these  matters  carefully, 
for  we  do  not  want  to  occasion  any  suffering  or  loss  that 
can  be  avoided.  Now  everything  is  ready  and  in  three 
days  we  shall  strike  the  first  blow. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  ?     I'll  tell  you  in  a  word. 


456  EIGHTY-NINE. 

We  are  going  to  stop  every  car-wheel,  silence  every  tele- 
graph instrument,  wreck  every  gas-plant  and  disable  every 
pipe-line  in  the  North." 

"  What  I "  I  exclaimed  in  amazement.  You  do  not 
mean  to  paralyze  every  business  in  the  country  ?  " 

*•'  That  is  just  what  we  mean  to  do.  At  midnight  three 
days  hence  every  train  west  of  the  Mississippi  will  stop  run- 
ning, every  sounder  stop  acting  and  every  electric  and  gas- 
light stop  shining.  The  next  day  the  same  will  hapi)en 
in  the  territory  west  of  Pittsburg  and  north  of  the  Ohio  and 
east  of  the  Mississippi.  On  the  third  the  ocean  cables  will 
be  cut  and  the  Avhistles  give  their  last  toot  from  Pittsburg  to 
the  eastern  point  of  Maine.  Communication  will  be  kept  open 
with  the  South  a  day  or  two  longer.  Then  you  will  also  be 
cut  off,  but  not  disabled  unless  it  becomes  necessary." 

"  But  it  is  terrible  I  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Do  you  realize 
that  almost  the  life  of  two-thirds  of  the  people  depends  on 
these  very  agencies  ?  '* 

''Eealizeit  ?"  he  said  with  a  laugh.  "You  bet  we 
do.  AVe  know  what  these  things  cost,  3'ou  know.  What  we 
want  is  to  have  other  people  realize  it.  Suffer  ?  Of  course 
they'll  suffer.  Why  shouldn't  they  ?  We  are  only  acting  in 
self-defence.  They  are  trying  to  rob  us  and  we  want  them  to 
know  what  they  are  doing  ;  that  is  all.  These  are  our  cars, 
our  tracks,  our  wires,  our  pipe-lines  and  our  plants,  aren't 
they?  We  built  them,  bought  them,  made  them,  didn't 
we  ?     If  we  choose  to  take  up  every  rail,  burn  every  crosstie. 


EI&HTY-NINE.  45,7. 

wreck  every  car,  cut  every  wire,  smash  every  still  and  plug 
every  well,  whose  business  is  it?  The  State  might  take  back 
the  right  of  way,  and  of  course  we  can't  destroy  the  grading. 
But  it  would  require  years  of  loss  and  labor  and  bankrupt 
every  State  just  to  replace  what  we  have  a  right  to  take  away 

''The  fact  is,  we  have  made  this  country.  Our  enter- 
prise and  our  money  have  given  it  prosperity.  Take  out 
only  the  things  I  have  mentioned  and  the  value  of  the  coun- 
try would  be  reduced  fifty  per  cent,  at  least.  What  would 
a  farm  along  this  line  be  worth  without  the  railroad  ? 
AVhat  would  all  the  farms  in  the  West  be  worth  without 
railroads  ?  What  is  tlie  good  of  raising  corn  if  you  have 
to  burn  it  ?  What  would  cattle  and  hogs  be  worth  with 
only  a  home  market  ?  Take  away  the  railroads  for  ninety 
days  and  two-thirds  of  the  business  men  and  even  farmers 
would  be  bankrupt.  Let  them  see  it — let  them  feel  it 
once  and,  my  word  for  it,  they  will  learn  a  little  sense. 
The  fact  is  it  is  too  late  for  them  to  kick.  We  have  got 
them  by  the  wrist  and  mean  to  hold  on.  Capital  is  intan- 
gible and  immortal.  They  may  kill  me  and  all  those  Avith 
me — not  a  great  many  at  best — but  our  power  will  remain, 
our  rights,  our  privileges,  our  possessions.  The  day  of 
heroics  and  sentimentalism  is  gone  by.  The  sword  and  the 
pen  are  well  enough  for  certain  stages  of  progress,  but  this 
is  the  epoch  of  hard  cash.  The  power  is  in  the  hands  of 
those  who  have  the  money  and  there  it  will  remain. 

"  We  have  not  only  made  the  country   but   we   pretty 


458  EIGHTY. NINE. 

nearly  own  it.  I  do  not  mean  the  land — that  is  the  paper 
title  to  it.  We  don't  want  that;  but  its  products,  its  re- 
sults, we  hold. 

"  Practically  there  are  but  two  classes  of  men — those 
who  employ  and  those  who  serve.  Both  liave  their  rights. 
The  one  has  the  right  to  have  his  money's  worth  of  work 
and  tlie  other  to  fair  wages.  The  farmer  or  other  producer 
must  pay  for  getting  his  wares  to  market.  The  law  of  sup- 
ply and  demand  is  the  only  law  that  governs  or  can  govern 
these  relations.  The  capitalist  has  a  right  to  hire  whom 
he  pleases  to  do  his  work,  at  the  lowest  price  the  service  is 
obtainable ;  the  laborer  has  a  right  to  sell  his  labor  for  the 
highest  price  he  can  get,  and,  if  the  farmer  thinks  the  rail- 
road charges  extortionate,  he  can  take  his  wheat  to  market 
on  an  ox-cart  in  the  good  old  wa}^  if  he  wants  to.  This  is 
my  idea  of  political  economy — simple,  fair,  free.  That  is 
all  we  ask." 

"  But,"  said  I  recovering  a  little  from  my  amazement 
"  are  you  not  afraid  of  provoking  a  popular   uprising  that 
will  destroy  the  properties  you  thus  abandon  ?" 

"  Of  course,"  he  answered  with  a  shrug,  '*we  take 
some  risks,  and  must  necessarily  suffer  loss.  That  is  al- 
ways the  way  in  ])usiness.  If  we  win,  we  shall  soon  make 
up  the  loss.  That  is  the  beauty  of  our  position.  If  we 
fail — but  we  shall  not.  This  is  no  matter  of  a  moment. 
I  tell  you  we  are  prepared.  Would  you  like  to  know  how 
we  have  guarded  ourselves  ?     I  don't  mind  telling  you  some 


EIGHTY  NINE.  459 

of  the  things.  "We  have  been  slackening  up  freight 
and  traffic  for  a  month  and  gathering  our  rolling 
stock  at  a  few  central  points.  Here  it  will  be  guarded, 
preserved  by  our  employes^ — every  engine  being  first  dis- 
abled by  the  removal  of  a  vital  part  which  will  be  in  every 
case  destroyed.  In  like  manner  the  machinery  in  our 
shops  will  be  destroyed  so  that  we  ourselves  could  not  put 
the  roads  in  operation  again  without  considerable  expense 
and  some  months  of  delay.  We  are  going  to  make  thor- 
ough work^  you  see." 

"But  your  employes,  do  you  think  they  will  stand  by 
you  ?  " 

''Not  a  doubt  of  it.  We  have  made  sure  of 
the  conductors  and  engineers,  through  their  associations. 
They  know  we  are  going  to  stand  by  them  and  they  will 
stand  by  us.  Our  trainmen,  agents,  ojjerators  and 
the  like,  have  been  fixed  in  the  same  way.  Everyone  has 
received  a  month's  j)ay  in  advance  with  the  promise  of  the 
party  employing,  indoi'sed  by  me,  of  full  pay  during  any 
stoppage  of  business  that  may  result,,if  they  remain  faith- 
ful to  our  interests.  They  know  me,  you  see,  and  no  man, 
friend  or  foe,  ever  doubted  my  Avord.  They  know  they 
will  get  their  pay  and  bold  their  places  if  they  stand  by  us, 
and  they  will  do  it. 

"At  every  important  point  we  shall  leave  a  man  in 
charge  with  power  and  means.  He  will  defend  the  larop- 
erty  entrusted  to  his  care  at  all  hazards.     The   trainmen 


460  EIGHTY -NINE. 

and  other  dependents  will  assist.  They  have  arms  in 
abundance — Winchesters  and  Gatlings.  If  likely  to  be 
overpowered  they  will  burn  everything  and  leave  the  rob- 
bers only  ashes  as  a  reward  for  their  acts  of  plunder.  This 
is  practically  an  army  of  half  a  million  of  mercenaries  who 
will  fight  for  us  because  their  daily  bread  depends  on  our 
success.  Behind  them  is  tiie  army  of  bankers  and  brokers 
and  speculators  of  all  sorts;  warehousemen  and  jobbers; 
lawyers  and  politicians — all,  in  fact,  whose  livelihood  or 
chance  of  profit  depends  on  the  maintenance  of  existing 
methods  and  conditions.  It's  a  big  job,  but  we've  taken 
the  contract  and  are  going  to  see  it  through.  And  we 
shall  win  tool  Mark  my  words  :  the  revolution  is  already 
effected.  Power  has  passed  from  the  hands  of  the  many 
into  the  hands  of  the  few.  Henceforth  it  will  not  be  senti- 
ment that  will  rule  this  country  but  sense — not  votes  but 
dollars.  We  are  going  to  do  our  work  so  thoroughly  that 
it  will  not  need  to  be  done  over  again  for  a  century  at 
least.'' 

The  train  was  speeding  on  through  the  darkness.  I 
raised  the  curtain  and  looked  out.  The  lights  in  the  vil- 
lages and  farmhouses  twinkled  as  we  went  by.  I  wondered 
what  the  people  in  them  would  think  and  feel  and  do, 
when  the  crash  came  and  they  found  themselves  cut  off 
from  that  daily  intercourse  with  the  Avorld  which  civiliza- 
tion has  brought  to  all. 

The  stenographer  entered  and  I  heard  my  companion 


"SIGHTY-NINE.  461 

dictating  messages  as  quietly  as  if  he  were  not  preparing, 
even  then,  to  initiate  the  most  astounding  revolution  the 
world  has  ever  known.  The  wheels  rolled  smoothly  over 
the  steel  rails.  The  throb  of  the  engine  pulsed  along  the 
train.  The  white  telegrajDh  poles  flew  by  like  silent  spec- 
ters while  their  wires  quivered  and  sighed  as  if  the  messages 
they  bore  were  freighted  with  the  woe  of  human  sadness. 

I  turned  and  looked  at  my  companion.  There  was  not 
a  trace  of  discomposure  about  him.  More  than  ever  the 
simplicity,  boldness  and  directness  of  his  character  im- 
pressed me. 

"Well/' said  he  with  a  smile,  ''do  you  think  you  can 
keep  the  Commission  from  adjourning  ?  " 

"I  think/'  was  my  reply,  "that  the  independence  of 
the  South  would  be  secured  by  such  a  course  and  will  see 
that  it  remains  in  session  four  days  longer." 

"  Good,"  said  he  extending  his  hand.  "  I  thought 
you  would  see  the  point.  Now  if  you  will  excuse  me  I  will 
say  good  night.  I  must  catch  a  little  sleep  before  I  get  to 
Indianapolis.  You  will  find  a  car  waiting  to  take  you  back  to 
Louisville,  at  the  next  station.  Make  yourself  comfortable." 

He  drew  a  curtain  that  hung  before  a  recess,  threw 
himself  upon  a  couch  and  in  a  moment  was  asleep. 
I  stepped  across  the  car,  looked  out  and  saw  Tyclio  Brahe's 
star  blazing  and  flashing  above  the  Western  horizon.  I 
wondered  if  its  appearance  presaged  the  down-fall  of 
another  empire. 


CHAPTER    XLTX. 

More  than  a  year  before  negotiations  had  been  begun 
by  the  Mormons  of  Utah  for  the  sale  of  their  lands  in  that 
territory,  to  the  Government  of  the  United  States,  on  con- 
dition that  the  whole  Ijody  of  the  Saints  should  migrate 
somev/here  beyond  the  limits  of  the  Republic.  This  prop- 
osition exactly  suited  the  mercantile  instincts  of  the 
Northern  people.  For  forty  years  the  Mormons  had  been 
a  fruitful  source  of  discord  and  expense.  The  process  of 
''stamping  out  "  which  had  been  so  boastfully  declared 
and  so  frequently  attempted  had  simply  resulted  in  the 
firmer  establishment  of  the  Church  of  the  Latter  Day 
Saints  and  its  altogether  remarkable  increase.  It  numbered 
at  this  time  a  quarter  of  a  million  of  souls,  organized  with 
singular  thoroughness,  owning  practically  all  of  Utah  that 
was  of  any  value,  and  making  steadfast  encroachments  on 
the  neighboring  territories. 

It  was  regarded  as  a  matter  of  undeniably  good  j^olicy 
that  the  government  sliould  take  back  all  the  unimproved 
lands  purchased  from  it,  at  the  original  price,  and  allow 
for  improvements  according  to  the  appraisal  of  commis- 
sioners. This  included  about  nine-tenths  of  the  arable 
land  of  the  territory,  which  it  was  thought  would  furnish  an 
excellent  opportunity  for  testing  the  agrarian  schemes  of 
40? 


EIGHT  r-XIXE.  463 

some  of  the  socialistic  reformers,  by  leasing  the  lands  thus 
acquired  to  actual  occupants,  thereby  illustrating  the  prac 
tieality  and  beneficence  of  State  ownership  of  the  soil. 

To  this  experiment  there  was  practically  no  opposition. 
All  parties  were  glad  to  get  rid  of  the  Mormons,  and  the 
costly  task  of  eradicating  a  development  inconsistent  with 
civilization  but  which  apparently  could  not  be  eliminated 
without  a  rigor  which  was  abhorrent  to  all  Northern  meth- 
ods of  dealing  with  evil  and  at  an  expense  which  the 
Northern  economist  regarded  with  horror.  To  buy  was 
one  thing;  to  expend  money  in  repressing  evil  or  protecting 
right  was  quite  another.  The  North  had  terribly  begrudged 
the  thousands  that  had  been  expended  in  governing  Mor- 
mondom,  but  were  enough  glad  to  contribute  the  millions 
required  to  buy  it,  the  simple  fact  being  that  they  have  an 
instinct  for  traffic  but  no  fitness  whatever  for  government 
except  that  of  the  shop-keeping  variety. 

In  an  incredibly  short  time  the  details  were  arranged. 
The  United  States  was  as  desirous  for  its  early  consumma- 
tion as  the  Mormons  themselves,  the  administration  being 
anxious  to  utilize  in  the  Presidential  campaign,  tlie  fact 
of  the  removal  and  the  final  settlement  of  the  ^Mormon 
question. 

The  Republic  of  Mexico  had  long  been  apprehensive 
of  aggression  on  the  part  of  the  United  States,  especially 
along  her  western  border.  To  prevent  this  the  govern- 
ment  jjranted  to  the   authorities    of  the  Mormon  chur<'h 


464  EIGHTY-NINE. 

the  right  to  occupy  and  control  the  two  western  j^rovinces 
as  a  quasi-independent  nationality,  on  condition  that  they 
should  satisfy  the  just  demands  of  such  jJrivate  landowners 
as  might  wish  to  remove,  pay  the  same  rate  of  taxation  as 
the  rest  of  the  Kepublic  and  defend  the  frontier  from 
invasion.  This  plan  had  been  secretly  on  foot  ever  since 
the  death  of  the  prophet,  Brigham  Young,  and  the  ]\Ior- 
mons  had  already  secured  by  optional  purchase  a  large  pai-t 
part  of  the  land  in  these  provinces. 

Early  in  the  fall  of  1888,  the  migration  to  the  new- 
Land  of  Promise  began.  It  was  a  curious  thing  to  happen 
in  our  ivestern  world  but  one  which  manv  had  longr  antici- 
pated.  The  uprooting  of  a  quarter  of  a  million  people  and 
the  transfer  of  their  flocks  and  herds  to  a  new  habitat  ex- 
cited much  comment  and  apprehension.  Scarcely  had  the 
march  begun  when  hostilities  broke  out.  The  passage  of 
such  a  cavalcade  througli  a  pastoral  region  where  cat- 
tle and  sheej)  were  the  chief  possession  of  the  peo})le,  was 
of  itself  almost  as  bad  as  the  curse  of  locusts.  The  govern- 
ment had  guaranteed  tliem  safe  conduct  and  the  little  "skel- 
eton "  army  of  the  United  States  was  nearly  all  employed 
in  securing  it.  Despite  all  that  could  be  done,  however,  tlie 
three  Mormon  columns  soon  became  predatory  hordes. 
Many  Indians  joined  with  them  and  the  people  of  all  the 
mountain  region  were  thrown  into  a  fever  of  excitement  and 
apprehension  by  their  progress  through  the  intervening 
States  and  territoi-ies. 


EIGHTY-NINE.  465 

At  the  begiiming  of  the  year  1889  the  Mormons  had 
reached  their  new  domain  and  the  erection  of  a  new  Tem- 
ple had  been  begun.  No  sooner  hud  they  taken  jDossession 
of  the  region  thns  acquired,  however,  than  the  filibustering 
spirit  which  had  been  smouldering  along  the  Mexican  bor- 
der for  some  years,  fanned  by  the  excitement  resulting 
from  the  dej^redations  of  the  resentful  sectaries  along  their 
line  of  march,  burst  into  a  flame.  By  the  utmost  exertion, 
through  the  loyal  efforts  of  the  Knights  of  the  Southern 
Cross,  it  was  prevented  from  showing  itself  to  any  great 
extent  along  the  Texan  frontier.  In  New  Mexico  and  Cal- 
ifornia, however,  the  border  soon  assumed  the  character  of 
a  camp,  and  an  army  of  invasion  was  mustered  in  an  in- 
credibly short  time,  composed  of  the  wildest  and  most  des- 
perate spirits  of  all  the  western  and  northwestern  region. 
Among  the  wealthiest  men  in  the  Mexican  Republic 
was  a  certain  Hermoso  de  Orilla,  whose  mines  were  accounted 
the  richest  in  the  State  of  Chihuahua,  if  not,  indeed,  in  all 
Mexico.  He  was  a  foreigner  and  reputed  to  be  an  Ameri- 
can by  birth  though  he  had  shown  himself  especially 
hostile  to  everything  like  American  aggression,  and  it 
was  chiefly  through  his  influence  that  the  concessions 
granted  to  American  capitalists  had  been  hampered  with 
conditions  removing  them  entirely  from  the  domain  of 
international  arbitrament.  The  Mexicans  were  not  slow 
to  repel  the  threatened  invasion,  and  the  army  which 
they  stationed  along  the  bcrder  with  its  well-armed  and  re- 


466  EIGHTY. NINE. 

vengeful  Mormon  auxiliaries,  constituted  a  force  by  no 
means  despicable.  For  forty  years  Mexico  had  been  burn- 
ing to  avenge  the  ravishment  from  her  control  of  the  un- 
told wealth  of  California,  New  Mexico  and  Nevada. 
This  act  of  unblushing  international  robbery  her  people 
had  never  forgiven,  and  every  year's  total  of  the  output  of 
their  mines  and  the  product  of  their  industries  only  added 
to  the  Mexican's  hate  and  his  desire  for  reprisal.  De  Orilla 
was  known  to  be  a  man  of  prudence  and  sagacity  as  well 
as  wealth,  passionately  devoted  to  Mexican  interests  and 
was  understood  to  have  displayed  in  his  earlier  days  mil- 
itary talents  of  an  unusual  order.  In  consideration  of 
these  things  he  was  offered  the  chief  command  upon  tlie 
border  as  soon  as  it  became  apparent  that  hostilities  were 
inevitable.  This  he  declined,  but  accepted  an  appoint- 
ment as  a  commissioner  to  conduct  negotiations  with  the 
view  of  avoiding  a  conflict  of  arms. 

Before  his  arrival,  however,  a  collision  had  occurred, 
resulting  in  the  defeat  of  the  Americans,  who  were  driven 
back  across  the  border  with  considerable  loss.  This  engage- 
ment had  two  important  consequences.  It  took  General 
Sheridan  at  once  to  the  seat  of  war,  thereby  relieving  us 
from  apprehension  arising  from  his  impetuous  temper  and 
known  hostility  to  any  movement  looking  toward  tlie  par- 
tition of  the  Federal  territory.  Though  he  had  once  pro- 
fanely declared  a  preference  for  hell  rather  than  Texas  as 
a  place  of  residence,  the  General  of  the  Army  had  mani- 


EIGHTY-NINE.  467 

fested  no  inclination  to  release  the  national  hold  on  Texas, 
and  it  was  with  great  satisfaction  that  we  learned  that  the 
President  had  ordered  Grant's  favorite  lieutenant  to  take 
personal  command  of  the  forces  on  the  Mexican  border. 
This  defeat  of  the  filibustering  force  transformed  the 
United  States  forces  into  an  array  of  invaders,  supported  by 
the  enraged  and  defeated  irregulars.  It  also  greatly  en- 
hanced the  confidence  of  the  Mexican  army  with  its 
virulent  Mormon  contingent  thirsting  for  spoils  and  re- 
venge. The  general  in  command  of  the  Mexican  army 
of  observation  was  a  soldier  of  no  mean  repute,  who  not  only 
shared  the  feelings  of  his  men  but  was  anxious  to  achieve 
fame  by  becoming  the  re-conqueror  of  the  lost  provinces. 
Sheridan,  Avith  that  contempt  of  the  "greaser"  which 
prevails  at  tlie  West  and  is  no  doubt  largely  due  to  the 
easy  victories  our  army  won  over  the  Mexicans  under 
Santa  Anna,  hastily  collected  and  mounted  his  forces  for 
a  cavalry  raid  into  Mexico  along  the  line  of  the  Mexican 
Central,  having  El  Paso  as  a  base;  the  line  of  the  Rio 
Grande  on  one  flank  while  the  other  was  protected  by  the 
Sierra  Mad  re  range.  It  was  a  brilliant  design  but  in  the 
existing  state  of  affairs  liable  to  a  counter-movement  more 
complete  than  any  known  since  Borodino. 

The  idea  of  leading  a  host  of  rough-riders  through  an 
enemy's  country  once  more  had  an  irresistible  charm  for 
the  "hero  of  the  Shenandoah,"  as  the  boastful  conqueror 
of  Early's  weak  and  war-worn   battalitjus  loved   to   hear 


468  EIGHTY-NINE. 

himself  designated.  Understanding  the  impetuous  char- 
acter of  his  opponent,  the  Mexican  general  devised  a  plan 
even  bolder  tlian  his  which  promised  not  only  the  certain 
destruction  of  the  enemy  but  the  conquest,  or  at  least  tem- 
porary subjugation  and  pillage,  of  the  richest  portion  of  the 
Pacific  slope.  AVhile  Sheridan  was  planning  a  sudden 
concentration  of  his  forces  and  a  vigoi'ous  dash  along  the 
line  of  the  railroad  into  the  heart  of  Mexico,  leaving  a 
small  force  to  guard  the  line  of  the  Rio  Colorado  and  the 
Southern  Pacific  and  its  branches,  relying  on  the  vessels 
of  the  navy  already  stationed  at  San  Diego  to  protect  the 
coast  line,  the  Mexican  general  was  preparing  a  guerrilla 
force  to  desti'oy  the  road  in  advance  of  the  invader  and 
another  to  hang  upon  liis  rear  and  intercept  his  retreat; 
while  he  had  already  transferred  his  own  troops  through 
the  passes  of  the  Cordillaras  and  dispatched  small  com- 
panies of  Mormons  to  cut  the  wires  and  burn  the  bridges 
on  the  Southern  Pacific. 

These  influenced  religious  partisans,  speaking  the  same 
language,  thoroughly  familiar  not  only  with  the  passes  of  the 
mountains  but  with  the  habits  of  the  roving  bands  by  which 
the  country  Avas  infested,  found  little  difficulty  in  execut- 
ing these  orders.  On  the  very  day  that  Sheridan  con- 
cluded his  concentration  at  El  Paso,  he  found  himself  shut 
off  from  communication  with  San  Francisco.  This  he  had 
probably  expected.  At  least  it  did  not  trouble  him,  as  he 
supposed  the  Northern  route  to  tlie  Pacific  Avould  remain 


BIG H  TY-NIN^.  469 

open  so  that  the  "Western  slope  could  be  easily  secured  by 
the  transfer  of  troojDS  from  the  Eastern  Departments  if 
there  should  be  any  necessity  for  such  action.  He  rej)orted 
the  fact  to  his  government  himself,  sitting  beside  the  operator 
in  the  station  house  at  the  Junction  from  which  all  gov- 
ernment messages  were  sent.  At  the  same  time  he  an- 
nounced that  all  his  preparations  had  been  completed  and 
that  he  would  unless  otherwise  ordered,  cut  loose  from  his 
base  and  enter  the  enemy's  country  at  daybreak.  It  was 
then  nearly  midnight  at  Washington.  The  impetuous 
soldier  thought  of  this  as  he  looked  at  his  watch  to  note 
the  time  of  his  despatch  and  recalled  how  often  during  the 
War  for  Separation  the  wires  liad  been  open  at  that  hour 
between  his  own  headquarters  and  those  of  his  great 
commander  for  a  moment's  consultation.  He  remem- 
bered these  things  with  a  touch  of  sadness.  The  man 
at  the  head  of  the  government,  if  it  conld  be  said  to 
have  a  head,  was  not  a  soldier  and  knew  nothing  of  the 
value  of  minutes.  The  grizzled  cavalier  wondered  if  he 
wt)uld  not  better  have  served  his  country  by  assuming 
the  reins  of  power  and  preventing  the  scheme  for  dis- 
memberment which  he  no  doubt  believed  to  be  on  foot. 
A  soldier's  duty  is  to  obey,  however. 

After  some  delay  this  message  was  received   in  reply 
to  the  one  he  had  sent: 

•'  The  President  pro  tempore  counselB  the  utmoBt  moderation 


470  EIG  H  T  Y-  XTNE. 

and  advises  that  you  proceed  with  the  greatest  caution.    The 
condition  of  affairs  at  the  West  and  South  is  such  that — " 

Here  the  message  ended  abruptly.  The  operator  an- 
nounced himself  cut  off — and  while  tlie  impatient  cavalier 
paced  11})  and  down,  uttering  anathemas  more  forceful  than 
elegant,  began  to  detach  parts  of  his  instruments. 

''What  are  you  doing  ?^'  asked  the  general. 

"  Obe\-ing  ordei's,  sir.  I  am  directed  to  side-track  all 
trains  coming  from  either  direction  and  disal)le  the  tele- 
graph instruments.'* 

'•What  for?" 

"Ask  me  something  easy,  General,''  was  the  answer, 
withas!>rug.     "It's  orders;  that's  all  1  know." 

"Don't  you  do  it  !" 

"  Very  well;  you  are  in  command,"  said  the  operator, 
with  a  gesture  of  assent.  He  turned  a  thumbscrew  on  the 
now  silei\t  instrument,  rose  and  stood  befoi'C  the  officer. 

"  Shall  I  side-track  the  train,  sir  ?  " 

He  took  uj)  his  signal  light  and  glanced  at  the  clock 
as  he  spoke.  A  train  would  be  due  in  a  few  min- 
utes. 

"Well,  yes,"  said  the  general,  "I  suppose  yon  had 
better." 

The  operator  went  to  his  desk ;  closed  it  mechani- 
cally, putting  something  in  his  pocket  as  he  did  so.  The 
General  thought  it  a  revolver  and  smiled  at  what  he  deemed 
the   man's   needless   precaution.       It  was   in  fact  a  pair 


EIGHTY-NINE.  47I 

of  wire-nippers,  "snips''  as  they  are  called  in  the  trade. 
He  went  out  of  the  room  and  walked  along  the  platform  to 
the  corner  of  the  building  where  the  wires  sliunted  down 
from  the  poles  on  either  side.  Reaching  behind  a  loose 
board,  he  severed  the  wires  just  where  they  entered  the 
office.  The  General  might  represent  the  country,  but  he 
was  in  the  employ  of  the  Eailroad  and  Telegraph  Com- 
panies and  bound  to  obey  his  employers'  orders. 

So  Sheridan  with  his  army  was  cut  off  midway  be- 
tween the  Gulf  of  Mexico  and  the  Pacific  :  the  silent 
wires  and  disabled  tracks  stretching  away  eastward  and 
westward  and  an  exultant  enemy  in  his  front.  Meanwhile 
at  the  East  the  ''blind  pool'"  and  the  Order  of  the 
Southern  Cross  held  undisturbed  control  of  the  situation. 
Before  he  could  even  learn  the  situation  of  affairs,  much 
less  interfere  to  prevent,  the  crisis  was  over. 

Two  days  before  the  Mormon  auxiliaries  of  the  Mexi- 
can army  had  been  transformed  into  a  host  of  frenzied 
fanatics  by  the  reappearance  of  Tycho  Brahe's  star — the 
etar  of  Bethlehem  as  they  believed — which  flashed  upon 
their  astounded  eyes  at  midday.  Priests  and  elders  con- 
strued the  flaming  star  to  be  a  presage  of  victory  as  well  as 
the  precursor  of  a  new  Messiah.  A  child  born  that  day 
to  a  wife  of  one  of  the  Twelve  Apostles,  was  declared 
to  be  the  divinely  designated  successor  of  the  Prophet 
and  was  adopted  for  nurture  and  maintenance  by  the 
Mormon  people  as  their  future  ruler.     All  were  wild  with 


473  EIGHT  Y-  NINE. 

desire  to  engage  in  the  pillage  of  the  fertile  plains  and 
rich  cities  of  California.  Yet  still  the  Mexican  general 
hesitated.  He  did  not  dare  to  move  until  assured  that 
tSheridan  had  actually  crossed  the  border,  and  thus  com- 
mitted the  government  of  the  United  States  to  war. 

While  Sheridan  waited  in  the  telegraph  office,  per- 
plexed and  angry,  a  courier  came  from  the  picket  line 
which  ran  along  his  front  and  handed  him  a  scrap  of  paper. 

"  What  I '■  exclaimed  the  General  in  surprise.  "Fair- 
banks I     Jiriug  him  to  my  quarters  at  once.'' 

That  night  Hermoso  de  Orilla  and  the  American  com- 
mander concluded  an  armistice  which  guaranteed  the  in- 
violability of  the  b<»nler  for  sixty  days,  pending  the  adjust- 
ment of  all  questions  at  issue  between  the  governments 
of  the  United  States  and  Mexico  by  a  mixed  commission 
to  be  appointed  one  by  each  of  the  belligerents,  and  an  um- 
pire to  be  luimed  by  the  Emperor  of  Grermany. 

"You  had  better  stay  with  us,  General,  and  let  me 
send  this  over  by  a  fl»g  of  truce,"  said  the  American  officer 
to  the  white  bearded  man  who  stood  in  front  of  his  quar- 
ters a  little  after  sunrise  the  next  morning.  "Those  fel- 
lows are  treacherous  and  may  treat  you  roughly,  despite 
all  you  have  done  for  them." 

"It  is  possible,"  said  the  other  gravely,  "but  it  is 
my  duty.  Blood  is  thicker  than  water  and  I  could  not 
fight  against  the  old  flag  ;  but  Mexico  is  my  country 
and    I    owe    her   allegiance  and   service.     I  feel    that    I 


EIGHTY-NINE.  4^0 

have  done  my  duty  in  concluding  this  armistice,  and  with 
your  cooperation  have  saved  both  countries  from  needless 
slaughter.  I  go  now  to  see  that  the  convention  is  duly 
observed  by  my  adopted  countrymen. '^ 

The  two  men  clasped  hands  gravely  and  earnestly. 
Hermoso  de  Orilla  galloped  away  down  the  sundy  valley 
already  shimmering  with  the  heat  of  the  summer  day. 
The  American  commander  shook  his  head  regretfully  as  he 
disappeared. 

Twenty-four  hours  afterwards  the  rising  sun  shone  on 
the  face  of  a  man  who  stood  with  his  back  against  the  mud 
wall  of  a  hacienda,  his  arms  jiinioned  bf  hind  him.  Before 
him  were  twelve  men  with  rifles.  Back  of  them  was  a 
battalion  of  infantry  forming  three  sides  of  a  hollow  square. 
Behind  these  surged  an  angry  multitude.  The  officer  in 
command  of  the  squad  spoke  three  words:  there  was  a  puff 
of  white  smoke  in  the  morning  sunlight  and  Ambrose 
Fairbanks  fell  on  his  face. — shot  as  a  traitor  !  Yet  the 
Mexican  general  observed  the  armistice  he  had  concluded, 
though  visiting  his  vengeance  on  him  for  having  defeated 
his  ambitious  designs.  It  was  not  until  all  was  over  that  I 
learned  from  my  mother's  lips  that  this  man,  who  by  the 
sacrifice  of  his  own  life  saved  thousands  of  his  real  and 
adopted  countrymen,  was  the  unknown  benefactor  of  our 
cause. 


CHAPTER  L. 

Everything  oceuiTed  just  as  Stoningliam  told  me  it  was 
arranged.  On  the  third  day  after  onr  interview  the  morn- 
ing papers  announced  that  telegrapliic  communication  to 
all  points  west  of  the  Mississi})pi  had  ceased  at  midnight 
and  that  for  a  considerable  distance  eastward  the  wires 
were  working  feebly.  The  companies  were  doing  all  in 
their  power,  it  was  said,  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  the  sud- 
den interruption.  An  electrical  storm  of  unprecedented 
extent ;  some  great  internal  convulsion  of  the  earth  ;  the 
possibility  of  collision  with  some  heavenly  body,  —  all 
these  were  canvassed  as  possible  causes  by  excited  crowds 
who  cast  many  glances  at  the  sky,  where  Tycho  Brahe's 
star  flashed  red  and  green,  even  at  mid-day,  whenever 
the  sun  was  obscured  by  clouds.  All  westward  traiiis 
were  stopped  at  the  crossings  of  the  Mississippi.  The 
eastward  bound  trains  were  filled  with  frightened  jms- 
sengers.  They  had  come  through  a  desert  of  silence.  As 
far  west  as  the  mountains  at  least,  it  was  known  that  the 
telegraphic  circuit  was  broken  and  the  wires  were  dead. 
All  trains  Avere  stopped  except  those  which  came  through 
that  day.  The  terrified  passengers  thought  some  great 
convulsion  had  taken  place  in  the  mountains.  It  was 
said  that  a  volcano  had  burst  out  near   Salt   Lake.     The\\ 

474 


EIGHTY -NINE.  475 

brought  also  rumors  of  serious  disaster  upon  the  Mexican 
liorder.  All  day  and  all  the  night  following  the  trains 
kept  rushing  eastward  as  if  fleeing  from  an  unknown  ter- 
ror;   but  none  went  westward. 

The  wires  still  worked  feebly.  As  Tycho  Brahe's 
star  dropped  below  the  horizon  all  those  leading  to 
the  northward  and  eastward  of  the  city  where  the  Com- 
mission sat,  became  suddenly  dead.  This  fact  became 
almost  instantly  known  all  over  the  city  and  the  streets 
were  soon  filled  with  pallid  crowds.  The  line  running 
to  the  southward  still  worked,  and  by  morning  it  was 
learned  from  a  New  York  dispatch,  received  by  way  of 
Atlanta  and  Nashville,  that  tlie  area  of  isolation  included 
all  the  region  west  of  Pennsylvania  and  north  of  the  Ohio 
river.  The  river  was  now  the  only  avenue  of  escape  from  the 
city.  The  Commission  met  early  the  next  morning,  hastily 
concluded  its  work  and  in  solemn  silence  adjourned  sine  die. 
The  members  sadly  bade  each  other  farewell,  their  sub- 
dued tones  belieing  the  words  of  hope  they  forced 
themselves  to  utter.  Every  face  was  clouded  with 
anxiety  for  loved  ones  of  whom  they  could  hear  no  word, 
from  whom  they  seemed  separated  by  infinite  space  now 
that  the  possibility  of  instant  communication  with  them 
had  suddenly  failed. 

Each  one  souught  with  frantic  eagerness  to  get  even 
a  day's  journey  nearer  to  his  home  before  the  expected 
end   of   all   things.     No   trains   ran  out  of  the  city  that 


476  EIGHTY-NINE. 

day,  except  to  and  fro  across  tlie  river  to  the  city  on 
tlie  other  shore.  The  iron  track  was  deemed  unsafe 
when  tlie  electric  sentinel  was  asleep.  Even  the  operators 
and  railroad  officials,  who  must  have  had  a  suspicion  of 
the  cause  of  all  this,  seemed  moody  and  apprehensive. 
Though  I  had  been  forewarned,  I  found  myself  affected  with 
a  nameless  terror — and  an  irresistible  inclination  to  fly 
homeward  as  if  to  escape  some  dreadful  disaster. 

The  churches  were  crowded;  the  voice  of  prayer  was 
heard  from  every  house  ;  kneeling  figures  were  a  frequent 
sight  upon  sidewalks.  Money  had  lost  its  power.  Men  bought 
and  sold  only  the  necessaries  of  life.  Many  gave  even  these 
away  freely.  None  served  and  none  commanded.  Society 
was  dissolved  with  terror,  yet  there  was  no  crime.  Fear  had 
disarmed  even  lust  and  rapacity.  I  fled  with  my  associates, 
and  was  indeed  hardly  less  terrified  than  they.  During  that 
day,  it  was  learned  that  the  ocean  cables  had  ceased  work- 
ing. It  was  as  if  the  earth  had  been  cut  in  twain.  The  next 
morning  all  communication  had  been  cut  off  north  of  Rich- 
mond. Even  to  the  southward  the  wires  worked  weakl}^  and 
uncertainly. 

All  remember  the  weeks  that  followed,  so  full  of  terror 
and  apprehension  !  Where  the  wires  still  worked  they  were 
used  almost  exclusively  to  convey  farewells.  When  by-and-by 
the  truth  came  to  he  known,  anger  succeeded  dread.  Threats 
were  freely  uttered  against  those  who  had  so  wantonly  trifled 
with  the  fears  of  a  continent.     There  was  talk  of  indicting 


EIO  HT  T-  NINE.  477 

them  for  the  murder  of  some  hundreds  who  had  died  from 
fright.  But  wiser  counsels  prevailed.  The  lesson  was 
too  terrible  to  be  soon  unlearned.  The  people  were  too  glad 
to  regain  the  privileges  they  had  so  long  enjoyed  to  hold  to 
severe  accountability  those  who  had  taught  them  even  by  so 
sharp  a  lesson  how  inestimably  precious  they  had  become. 
The  Capitalists  were  invited  to  resume  the  functions  they 
had  acquired  under  guarantees  that  rendered  their  privileges 
even  more  secure.  The  feudalism  of  wealth  thus  secured 
still  more  absolute  control  of  the  Northern  Republic  by  the 
marvellous  audacity  of  the  head  of  the  •■  blind  pool." 

The  prayer  of  the  South  was  granted  by  the  States 
of  the  North  almost  without  opposition  and  the  govern- 
ment of  the  United  States,  reduced  by  more  than  a  third 
in  extent  and  population,  was  re-organized  with  such  guar- 
antees as  it  pleased  the  capitalists  to  offer,  which  the  peo- 
ple found  themselves  compelled  to  accept.  Just  where  the 
right  lies  between  the  two  forces  there  arrayed  against  each 
other  I  do  not  know,  but  I  fear  the  end  has  not  yet  come. 


CHAPTER    LI. 

Doubly  widowed,  my  mother  sits  by  my  bedside  wait- 
ing for  the  end.  I  think,  us  1  look  at  her  still  fair  face 
and  mourning  weeds,  how,  like  my  grandmother,  she  will 
dwell  alone  here  at  Ryalmont  and  watch  the  world's  hap- 
penings, but  without  hope  or  fear  for  the  fate  of  her  son. 

The  hurt  of  which  1  die  is  but  a  repetition  of  that 
which  marked  the  turning  of  the  current  of  my  life.  I 
have  been  told  that  there  is  evidence  that  the  rocket 
which  exploded  beneath  my  horse  was  in  reality  a  bomb 
thrown  with  murderous  intent.  Certain  it  is,  however, 
that  1  was  not  touched  by  its  fragments,  and  that  ray  in- 
jury resulted  from  the  fall  of  the  frightened  and  wounded 
steed.  It  is  possible  that  some  of  the  unfortunate  race  who 
are  apprehensive  of  results  that  may  affect  their  future  un- 
favorably, may  have  borrowed  something  of  the  savage  idea 
which  abounds  among  certain  classes  of  the  Xorth  and 
have  thought  to  appeal  to  murder  as  a  remedy  for  appre- 
hended ills.  However  this  nuiy  be,  as  no  one  else  was 
harmed,  I  trust  that  there  maybe  no  investigation  and  no 
punishment.  Surely,  even  if  it  be  true,  I  have  done  enough 
for  my  country  to  ask  that  tlie  life  of  mine  enemy  may  be 
spared,  that  the  triumph  of  our  cause  may  be  bloodless — 
478 


EIGHTY-NINE.  479 

no  man's  life  having  been  takeu  to  secure  our  freedom  or 
in  punishment  of  any  who  resisted. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

The  starry  cross  is  triumphant.  The  duties  and  respon- 
sibilities of  nationality  now  rest  upon  tlie  Southern  peo- 
ple, untrammeled  by  Northern  prejudice  and  suspicion. 
For  what  has  occurred  we  may  find  much  excuse.  The  world 
is  charitable.  Success  hides  what  failure  ouly  emphasizes. 
For  what  is  to  be,  the  world  will  hold  us  to  strict  account- 
ability. Civilization  is  the  master  whom  all  modern  na- 
tionalities must  serve.  The  balance  between  national 
power  and  individual  right  must  be  carefully  adjusted  to 
our  necessities  and  justice  must  be  impartially  administered 
to  all  irrespective  of  past  relations  or  prejudices.  Justice 
is  the  foundation  stone  on  which  we  must  build — justice  to 
each,  justice  to  all— justice  to  high  and  low,  to  rich  and 
poor,  to  strong  and  weak,  to  white  and  black  I  Mercy  is 
not  enough  I  Charity  and  compassion  are  delusive  words. 
Justice  is  the  only  sure  foundation.  This  is  the  mistake 
the  North  made.  They  were  pitiful,  tender,  merciful;  but 
they  forgot  justice.  So  their  power  relaxed  and  the  weak 
prevailed  ! 

****** 

The  South  has  its  mission  which  must  be  faithfully  per- 
formed or  its  downfall  is  certain.  Because  we  are  a  strong 
people — the  strongest  the  New  World  has  produced — God 
has  placed  before  us  the  mightiest  problem  of  civilization. 


480  EIGH2  Y-XIXE. 

How  shall  black  and  white  live  together  in  peace,  prosper- 
ity and  content  ?  This  is  the  question  we  have  to  answer. 
The  master's  power  is  broken — broken  by  light,  progress, 
knowledge.  What  shall  take  its  place  ?  Let  my  country- 
men answer  truly,  justly  and  the  future  of  the  new  Nation 
is  assured.  Already  we  have  thrice  conquered  our  ancient 
enemy.  The  nation  whose  power  we  could  not  withstand,  a 
quarter  of  a  century  of  peace  has  enabled  us  to  rule  and 
conquer.  Already  its  literature  is  but  the  story  of  our  life. 
Our  heroes  arc  its  chief  inheritance  of  fame.  Its  own,  it 
accounts  as  it  well  may,  us  weak  and  pitiful  beside  them. 
Our  great  names  are  even  yet  held  up  to  emulation;  theirs 
are  consigned  to  silence  and  contempt  I  They  exult  in  the 
names  of  Lee  and  Jackson  and  the  immortal  galaxy  that 
stand  beside  them  on  the  pinnacle  of  fame.  They  apolo- 
gize for  Grant  and  Sherman  and  Sheridan  and  all  the  array 
of  great  names  and  little  natures  whom  only  the  accident 
of  success  enfaraes.  The  Federal  soldier  has  long  since 
become  a  pitiful  creature  worthy  only  to  serve  as  an  ex- 
ample of  that  magnanimity  which  gave  alms  to  our  con- 
querors when  peace  had  restored  us  to  our  natural  i)lace  of 
ruler  of  the  nation's  destinies.  Let  us  see  to  it  that  the 
moral  and  intellectual  supremacy  thus  jncontestibly  at- 
tested over  a  people  strong  in  substance  but  weak  in  honor, 
self-respect  and  the  inherent  sense  of  justice,  be  not  lost 
now  that  the  bond  that  united  the  discordant  peoples  has 
been  severed.     We  have  seen  what  made  them  weak:  let  it 


EIGHTY-NINE.  481 

teach  us  how  to  remain  strong  I  Our  peoi^le  are  not  poor, 
and  I  thank  God  they  are  not  rich.  The  example  of  our 
neighbor,  once  our  unniated  yokefellow,  will  serve  to  show 
us  much  that  we  should  avoid.  Let  my  countrymen  see  to 
it  that  so  far  as  possible  our  laws,  while  encouraging  enter- 
prise and  facilitating  the  acquirement  of  competency,  guard 
most  carefully  against  the  dangerous  accumulation  and 
combination  of  capital.  The  "  blind  pool,"  it  matters  not 
how  good  the  man  who  wields  its  power,  how  devout  his 
inclinations  or  sincere  his  convictions  of  right  may  be — is 
the  most  dangerous  instrument  of  destruction  that  civil- 
ization has  yet  developed. 

There  are  two  Republics  instead  of  one.  The  plant 
of  American  liberty  has  not  only  blossomed  but  borne  fruit. 
There  are  two  nations,  two  peoples,  two  civilizations. 
Each  must  solve  its  own  corollary  of  eternal  truth.  Eacli 
is  charged  with  its  peculiar  phase  of  the  problem  of  human 
destiny.  Mutual  peace  rests  on  the  tirni  support  of  mutual 
resiDcct.  We  shall  exchange  products,  ideas,  influences. 
The  world  will  be  better  that  we  are  no  longer  one  in  form. 
The  spirit  of  liberty  will  be  stronger  and  more  potent  in 
its  effects  upon  the  civilization  of  the  future,  now  that 
there  are  two  rival  republics  to  uphold  its  glory,  than  if 
they  had  remained  but  one. 

****** 

The  confederated  Republics  are  but  the  nucleus  around 


482  EIGHTY- NINE. 

which  the  weak  of  the  earth  will  gather  for  protection  against 
the  strong  until  the  '"balance  of  power  "  shall  become  a 
myth  and  the  "rights  of  [)eo})les  "'  tangible  and  enforcible 
realties.  Already  the  jjroblcui  of  Labor  and  Capital  is  work- 
ing out  its  true  solution  and  a  new  civilization  founded  upon 
it  is  growing  up  at  the  North.  What  shall  be  its  excellences 
and  what  its  faults  none  can  yet  determine.  Her  experience 
will  beoui'guidr,  and  our  counsel  will  have  far  more  weight 
with  her  people  than  when  the  claim  of  self-interest  de- 
prived it  of  half  its  foi'ce. 

The  days  have  grown  to  weeks,  and  tlie  weeks  to 
months,  since  1  began  my  t'ask.  Long  siiu-e  I  was  com- 
pelled to  surrender  to  another's  haiul  the  labor  of  recording 
my  words.  In  the  meantime  hope  has  grown  into  assured 
certainty.  The  love  of  my  people  has  not  failed.  What  I 
trembled  to  see  attempted,  I  rejoice  to  know  has  been 
achieved.  It  is  not  the  dismemberment  of  a  nation,  but 
the  birth  of  a  new  sovereignty.  The  future  may,  perhaps, 
reunite  the  twain  ;  but  civilization,  humanity,  peace  and 
prosperity  demand  their  J3resent  separation.  What  I  under- 
took with  doubt,  I  see  concluded  with  gladness.  I  have 
finished  my  work  ;  completed  my  task,  and  leave  it  now  to 
my  countrymen,  with  only  the  injunction  which  the  greatest 
of  our  Northern  neighbors  uttered  on  the  field  of  battle 
consecrated  by  his  sorrowful  benediction,  that  they '*  do 
the  right — as  God  gives  us  to  see  the  Right  \" 


[The  following  monograph,  in  the  handwriting  of  the  Grand 
Master,  seems  to  have  been  prepared  just  previous  to  the  unfor- 
tunate accident  that  terminated  his  life.  It  is  one  of  the  few 
things  that  escaped  the  destruction  of  his  papers  which  he 
ordered.  It  is  so  clear  an  exposition  of  his  views  upon  one 
phase  of  the  question  presented  by  his  action,  that  it  is  deemed 
proper  to  give  it  a  place  here. — E,  H  ] 

1689,  1789,   1889. 

For  three  centuries  '*  'Eighty-Nine  "  has  been  the  year 
of  jubilee,  the  day  of  peaceful  accom2)lishment,  the  hour  of 
complete  fruition.  It  would  seem  as  if,  in  Anglo-Saxon 
history,  liberty  moved  in  an  orbit  whose  period  was  a  cen- 
tury ;  as  if  progress  came  in  recurrent  cycles  of  just  a 
hundred  years  ;  as  if  some  mystic  impulse,  akin  to  that 
which  causes  the  bees  to  swarm  and  the  stork  to  migrate, 
affected  this  race  of  liberty- lovers  and  compelled  it  to 
mark  each  century's  close  by  some  notable  event  of  espe- 
cial significance  to  the  human  race  in  its  never  ending 
struggle  for  individual  equality  and  collective  right.  These 
crises  have  grown  more  and  more  significant,  and  their  re- 
lations to  antecedent  growths  have  become  more  and  more 
distinct  with  each  successive  period. 

It  is  apparent  now  that  each  precedent  century  was 
but  a  period  of  incubation  during  which  was  germinated 

483 


484  Eirrll  T  Y  -  N  rxE . 

the  great  idea  that  sprang  into  hfe  at  its  close.  The  pro- 
gress has  been  continuous,  but  the  result  is  marked  by  suc- 
cessive steps,  each  of  which  rests  on  tlie  solid  basis  of  a 
hundred  years  of  thought,  of  toil,  of  suffering  and  of  blood. 
There  is  no  conflict  betvveen  the  great  ideas  thus  evolved. 
Each  one  grows  out  of  those  that  went  before  as  natur- 
ally as  the  oak  out  of  the  acorn.  The  period  of  commo- 
tion, perhaps  of  conflict,  that  precedes  the  climax  may 
seem  like  destruction.  The  weak  and  narrow-minded  may 
bewail  its  fierceness  and  intensity.  Those  who  worship  the 
j\Ioloch  that  forges  fetters  for  the  present  out  of  the  dark- 
ness of  the  past,  may  mourn  the  downfall  of  existing 
institutions,  the  overthrow  of  accepted  theories  and  the 
establishment  of  new  dogmas.  Their  alarm  is  but  the 
weakness  of  folly  and  the  apprehension  of  ignorance.  The 
convulsion  that  fills  them  with  dread  is  but  the  bursting  of 
the  acorn-shell.  The  strange  growth  they  count  as  nox- 
ious and  malign  is  but  a  seedling  of  the  oak  possessing 
a  stronger  fiber  and  destined  to  develop  a  sturdier  trunk 
and  wider  stretch  of  limb. 

At  the  first  of  these  great  epochs  a  nation  declared 
itself  greater  than  its  king  ;  at  the  second  a  child  affirmed 
its  right  to  walk  without  a  mother's  guidance  ;  at  the  third 
a  people  cradled  with  another  avowed  their  right  to  self-di- 
rection. Monarchy  fought  furiously  for  its  supreme  pre- 
rogative ;  the  mother-land  rained  blows  and  curses  on  the 
presumptive  colonies  ;  the  sturdier  twin   met   the   foolish 


EIGHTY- NINE.  485 

aspiration  of  its  weaker  fellow  with  slaughter  and  subjugu- 
tion.  In  each  case  the  right  triumphed.  The  people 
degraded  the  king  but  exalted  the  throne  ;  the  American 
nation  became  tlie  ])ricle  of  the  English  people  ;  the  new 
republic  is  destined  to  become  the  safety  and  support  of 
that  from  which  it  separated.  Three  great  revolutions 
mark  three  momentous  epochs  I  Three  harmonious  chords 
in  the  great  oratorio  of  progress  have  been  struck  at  inter- 
vals of  just  a  century!  The  lesson  that  they  teach  is  well 
worth  the  world's  attention. 

The  struggles  of  the  English  people  for  self-govern- 
ment had  been  long  and  bloody.  Seventeen  centuries  lay 
between  the  wicker  skiffs  and  the  wooden  walls  that  were 
already  contesting  the  sovereignty  of  the  seas.  The  Heptar- 
chy had  been  dissolved  by  conflict  and  its  residuum  cemented 
with  blood.  The  Eoman  had  been  conquered  and  driven 
out  ;  the  Xorman  and  Dane  absorbed.  The  barons  had 
curbed  the  power  of  John  with  a  strong  hand.  AVat  Tyler 
and  his  followers,  thirty  thousand  strong,  had  encamped 
about  the  Tower  of  London  with  the  ennobling  demand, 
"Ye  will  make  us  free  forever,  our  heirs  and  our  lands." 
Jack  Cade, with  his  rabble  of  starving  hinds,  had  burst  the 
barriers  of  fear  and,  clamoring  for  bread,  for  the  mere 
right  to   live,   had   hurled   themselves  upon  the   mailed 


488  EIGHTY   XTXE. 

retainers  of  feudalism,  demanding,  with  a  pitiful  instinct 
of  justice,  that  the  purchasing  power  of  labor  be  increased 
in  order  that  the  poor  might  live.  Cromwell  had  come  out 
of  the  fens,  had  checked  the  pride  of  monarchy,  baffled  the 
intrigues  of  aristocracy  and  showed,  not  only  that  the  peo- 
ple might  rule  tliemselves  through  independent,  self-ap- 
pointed leaders,  representing  the  popular  thought,  but 
might  grow,  conquer  and  prosper  without  scepter  or 
sovereign.  AVith  his  death  had  come  again  the  Stuarts 
and  absolutism.  For  thirty  years  the  people  of  England, 
who  had  tasted  liberty  and  tested  self-government  under 
Cromwell,  yielded  once  more  to  the  exactions  of  a  foolish 
and  arrogant  legitimacy.  When  another  generation  had 
risen,  the  peoj)le  of  England,  unworn  by  the  anguish  and 
impoverisliment  of  Av.ir,  fired  with  theglory  of  their  fathers' 
achievements,  full  of  self-confidence  and  emulation  of  a 
glorious  example,  rose  up  in  the  quiet  majesty  of  con- 
scious power  and  drove  the  prince,  who,  though  accounted 
legitimate,  was  in  spirit  a  usuri)er,  not  merely  from  the 
throne  but  from  the  land.  The  ferment  of  freedom 
spread  throughout  the  whole  dominion  and  lifted  peer  and 
peasant  alike  to  the  height  of  self-assertion  ynd  the  plane 
of  voluntary  self-government.  Then  for  the  first  time  the 
peoiile  assembled  "in  convention,''  consecrating  that  word 
forever  to  the  assertion  of  popular  sovereignty  and  making 
such  voluntary,  informal  assemblage  lawful  at  all  times  as 
the  ultimate  means  of  expressing  a  nation's  will  and  declar- 


EIGHTY.  NINE .  487 

ing  the  birth  of  a  new  government.  Thej'^  were  not  yet 
ready  to  march  without  the  semblance  of  a  scepter  at  their 
head.  From  over  the  stormy  sea,  therefore,  they  called  the 
stern  and  silent  man  who  had  already  conquered  a  kingdom 
from  the  fiercest  foemen  of  that  time,  had  dared  to  appeal 
to  the  Avhelming  waves  as  an  ally  against  oppression,  and 
had  consecrated  to  liberty  and  self-government  what  his 
sword  had  won.  Thus  the  first  great  Anglo-Saxon  revolu- 
tion became  a  fact  and  the  joy-bells  echoed  throughout 
England  as  William,  stumbling,  kissed  her  soil,  and  hand  in 
hand  with  his  sagacious  Queen,  received  the  plaudits  of  a 
liberated  people.     This  was  1689. 

I  should  not  need  to  dwell  upon  the  luster  that  sur- 
rounds the  second  member  of  this  divine  numeric  trinity 
were  it  not  that,  with  a  foolish  desire  to  perpetuate  the 
memory  of  conflict  rather  than  the  glory  of  achieve- 
ment, the  American  people  have  been  accustomed  to  regard 
the  day  which  first  gave  voice  to  the  aspiration,  rather  than 
that  which  marked  the  final  accomplishment  of  nationality, 
as  the  birth  hour  of  our  liberty. 

For  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  the  Anglo-Saxon  stock 
had  been  domiciled  on  the  soil  of  America.  The  seed  of 
liberty  had  ripened  quickly  in  the  new  world.  Solitude 
has  ever   been  the   nurse   of    power.     The    wilderness   is 


488  EIGHT  Y-XINK. 

always  a  hotbed  of  aspiration.  Men  who  are  alone  with 
God  come  quickly  to  outstrip  their  fellows.  The  Old 
World  pitied  tlie  isolation  of  her  colonies,  little  dreaming 
that  the  distance  that  lay  between  them  and  the  parent 
stock  would  prove  a  sure  incentive  to  inanhood  of  a 
stronger  growth  than  she  had  ever  known.  Transplanted 
to  virgin  soil,  Puritanism  hardly  felt  the  clieck  that  came 
with  CromwelFs  death.  Whether  Charles  or  James  or 
AVilliam  ruled  in  London  mattered  littk'  to  the  sturdy 
founders  of  an  empire,  who  felt  within  themselves  the  im- 
pulse towards  self-direction  and  control  grooving  stronger 
and  stronger  year  by  year.  Already  before  the  first  Con- 
gress met,  the  germ  of  nationality  had  burst  its  shell. 
Jefferson  did  not  originate  the  Declaration  of  Indepen- 
dence. He  merely  phrased  a  i)eople's  thought.  It  was 
not  the  men  who  met  in  Philadelphia  that  laid  the  foun- 
dations of  the  American  Republic,  but  the  people  whose 
irresistible  aspirations  compelled  them  to  the  course  they 
adopted.  Massachusetts  and  Carolina  were  linked  together 
by  stronger  bonds  of  union  before  the  Declaration  was 
published — when  the  people  of  the  southern  colony  sent 
aid  and  comfort  to  the  stricken  patriots  of  Boston — than 
have  ever  united  them  since.  It  was  not  the  wisdom  of 
her  statesmen  or  tlie  merit  of  her  leaders  that  established 
the  Republic,  but  the  invincible  determination  of  the  peo- 
ple— an  Anglo-Saxon  j^eople  made  strong  by  tliat  isolation 
which  a  thousand  leagues  of  ocean  gave,  and  made  self- 


EIGHTY-NINE.  489 

reliant  by  two  centuries  of  conflict  with  barbarism  and  the 
wilderness.  They  who  came  looked  back  to  England  at 
first,  indeed,  as  a  mother-country.  In  their  children's 
hearts  the  tie  grew  weak  until,  long  enough  before  the  con- 
flict occurred,  an  Anglo-American  type  had  become  estab- 
lished. Interest  and  aspiration  had  ceased  to  bind  the 
people  to  the  parent  isle,  and  hope  looked  forward  with 
confident  assurance  to  a  mighty  empire  beneath  the  setting 
sun. 

It  was  not  the  war  of  Revolution  that  separated  us 
from  the  mother  country.  The  severance  was  complete 
before  it  began.  When  the  Congress  formulated  the 
declaration  that  we  Avere  a  free  and  independent  people, 
there  was  no  mistake  of  mood  or  tense.  It  was  no  pro- 
phetic declaration,  but  merely  the  formal  assertion  of  an 
accomplished  fact.  It  did  not  import  the  overthrow  of  any 
social  system  and  hardly  required  the  establishment  of  a 
new  form  of  government.  The  people,  one  day  the  subjects 
of  Great  Britain,  awoke  the  next  to  find  themselves 
allegiants  of  a  sovereignty  asserted  though  not  created  that 
first  Fourth  of  July.  The  Colonies,  already  for  nigh  a 
hundred  years,  had  been  self-supporting  and  in  the  main 
self-protecting  organisms.  They  had  conquered  for  Great 
Britain  more  territory  than  she  had  ever  before  possessed, 
and  lield  it,  almost  single-handed,  not  merely  against  the 
savage,  but  also  against  the  Frenchman  on  the  North  and 
the  Spaniard  on  the  South.     They  had   become  not  only 


490  ETGHTY-NINE. 

controllers  of  tlieir  own  destiny,  but  concjuerort^  over  whose 
subjugated  realms  waved  the  flag  of  Great  Britain,  a 
mocking  symbol  of  power  usurped. 

The  struggle  was  no  doubt  a  surprise  to  both  the  com- 
batants. The  English  monarchy  soon  learned  the  differ- 
ence between  ravaging  our  coasts  and  conquering  a  people 
every  man  of  whom  felt  himself  the  peer  of  a  monarqh  in 
the  divine  right  to  rule.  When  the  end  came,  '"Eighty- 
Nine"  was  again  gloritiod.  The  years  of  conflict  and  of 
doubt  gave  way  to  certainty.  Again  a  convention  of  the 
people  marked  the  birth  of  a  new  nationality.  Battle  and 
bloods<hed  and  triumph  had  made  it  possible  for  a  free  peo- 
ple to  act  for  themselves  under  such  forms  as  they  might 
devise.  After  due  deliberation  they  determined  to  estab- 
lish an  inde])endent  nation  on  tlie  American  continent. 
This  nationality  was  not  aii  accident  but  a  growth.  "  'Sev- 
enty-Six" marked  the  assertion  of  liberty  and  right; 
*  "Eighty-Nine,"  the  era  of  crystalization  and  certainty. 
Then  it  was  that  the  nation  was  really  born,  the  republic 
organized,  and  an  epoch  of  self-government  inaugurated. 

Eighteen  Hundred  and  Eighty-Xine  !  What  shall  I 
say  of  it  ?  What  can  I  say  of  it  that  every  one  who  reads 
these  words  does  not  already  know  ?  It  too  has  been  an 
era  of  fulfilment.     The  germ   of  a  new  nationality    had 


EIGHTY-  N I NE .  491 

ripened  in  the  pericarp  of  the  okl.  For  a  hundred  years 
the  American  Eepiiblic  liad  sheltered  two  peoples.  Year 
by  year  they  had  grown  more  and  more  distinct.  Each 
had  crystalized  about  its  own  specific  center.  Alike,  yet 
unlike,  they  had  grown  side  by  side  hardly  aware  of  the 
unseen  forces  that  were  dragging  them  asunder.  Like 
rays  of  sunlight  they  had  slowly  but  certainly  diverged. 
The  chord  which  a  child's  hand  might  have  spanned  at 
the  beginning,  when  a  century  of  growth  had  intervened, 
subteuded  an  arc  which  touched  almost  the  antipodes  of 
thought. 

The  government  of  the  United  States  existed  some- 
thing more  than  a  hundred  years,  estimating  its  duration 
from  the  date  of  the  famous  Declaration  of  Independence. 
This  was  accurate  enough,  so  far  as  its  relations  to  Great 
Britain  were  concerned.  The  mother  country  lost  a  de- 
pendency, or,  rather,  a  galaxy  of  dependencies  on  that  day; 
but  *'  the  federation  of  the  world "  can  hardly  be  said  to 
have  gained  a  state  at  the  same  time.  The  national  exis- 
tence really  began  with  the  adoption  of  a  constitution  in 
1789.  It  continued  under  and  by  virtue  of  that  constitu- 
tion, variously  changed  and  modified,  one  hundred  years. 
At  the  end  of  that  period,  it  is  true,  it  still  remained  nomi- 
nally intact,  but  the  process  of  separation  had  proceeded 
so  far  that  dismemberment  was  inevitable.  From  that 
time  on  its  history  is  only  a  recital  of  the  various  stages 
of  disruption.     As  an  actual,  vital  force  in  the  family  of 


492  EIGUTY-yiXE. 

nations,  therefore,  the  first  great  Republic  may  be  said  to 
have  been  in  existence  exactly  a  century. 

"Why  did  it  not  exist  a  thousand  5'ears  ?  Why,  indeed, 
did  it  perish  at  all  ? 

Three  distinct  answers  have  been  given  to  these  ques- 
tions. One  by  that  class  of  thinkers  who  believe  mon- 
archy to  be  the  only  guaranty  of  stability.  They,  of  course, 
see  in  the  dismemberment  of  the  Union  another  evidence 
of  the  weakness  and  unreliability  of  a  republican  form  of 
government.  According  to  them  the  democratic  experi- 
ment, tried  on  the  grandest  scale  and  under  the  most  faA- 
orable  auspices,  has  proved  a  failure.  So  far  as  a  single 
nationality  is  concerned,  this  is  true.  Tlie  government 
of  the  United  States  undoubtedly  did  prove  unable  to 
control  and  harmonize — in  other  words  to  govern — the  peo- 
ple inhabiting  its  territorial  limits  ;  but  the  question  of 
self-government — government  by  the  people,  in  some  form 
or  of  some  type — certainly  has  not  been  decided  in  the 
negative.  The  only  thing  thus  far  determined  is  that  the 
government  of  the  United  States,  as  at  first  organized 
and  subsequently  developed,  was  not  adapted  to  hold  in 
prosperous  and  harmonious  relations  all  of  its  constituent 
elements.  The  Democratic  principle  still  remains,  some- 
what modified,  it  is  true,  in  a  part  of  the  original  territory, 
but  not  abandoned  in  any  of  it. 

This  fact  furnishes  the  basis  on  which  the  second 
answer  is  predicated.     It  is  asserted  by  certain  swift  gen- 


EIGHT  Y-  NINE .  493 

eraliziug  doctriiiaire8  that  the  fate  of  the  Federal  Uiiiou 
is  but  another  instance  of  a  fatal  thirst  for  empire.  They 
tell  us  that  the  scope  of  territor}'  it  embraced  became  so 
great  that  the  nation  simply  fell  apart  from  its  own 
unwieldiness.  There  is  not  a  shred  of  reasoning  to  sup- 
port this  theory.  It  is  useless  to  cite  examples  from 
history.  The  examples  themselves  rest  merely  on  asser- 
tion. Xothing  but  bare  rhetorical  assumption  can  be 
cited  in  support  of  the  generally  received  idea  that  even 
the  Roman  Empire  grew  top-heavy  by  conquest  and  per- 
ished from  over-extension  of  its  territorial  limits.  Every 
fact  of  her  history  proves  the  contrary.  It  is  true  that 
llome  had  no  assimilative  power.  What  she  took  she  held 
by  force.  The  Roman  eagle  mated  with  nothing  else. 
Yet,  despite  this  fact,  it  is  unquestionable  that  the  causes 
of  her  downfall  were  to  be  found  at  the  very  center  of  her 
power,  within  the  walls  of  the  seven-hilled  city  itself.  If 
her  territory  had  been  no  greater  than  that  claimed  by  the 
wolf-suckled  freebooters  of  the  Tiber,  and  the  same  ele- 
ments of  Aveakness  had  crept  within  the  walls,  the  city 
must  have  fallen.  It  was  not  extent  of  territory  but  the 
decay  of  Roman  manhood  that  precipitated  the  doom  of 
Rome.  The  legionary  had  become  a  hireling  and  con- 
quered without  Romanizing.  The  nation  had  ceased  to  be 
homogeneous  in  purpose  and  impulse.  The  East  had  half 
separated  from  the  West.  It  was  no  longer  true  that  all 
roads  led  to  Rome.     The  seat  of  the  empire,  as  one  of 


494  EIGHT  V-XINK. 

its  great  cliieftuius  declared,  was  iiu  longer  on  ihe  Tiber, 
but  where  the  eagles  of  his  legions  flew.  The  empire  itself 
had  ceased  to  be  Roman  and  remained  only  an  organized 
force  that  might  be  shifted  from  Rome  to  Byzantium,  from 
Massilia  to  the  banks  of  the  Euphrates.  It  was  a  garment 
that  fitted  any  shoulders;  Avhich  one  might  wear  to-day  and 
another  to-morrow  ;  which  might  be  parted  between  two  or 
stolen  by  Gaul  or  Oriental,  without  signifiuant  change  of 
character.  It  was  so  complete  an  organism  that  it  took 
centuries  to  destroy  it.s  form,  but  its  vital  distinctive  force 
was  dead  before  any  usurper  dared  to  seize  or  rend. 

Even  if  the  commonly  accepted  theory  of  territor- 
ial unwieldiness  were  established  as  tlie  prime  cause  of  the 
decay  of  other  governments,  it  could  not  with  any  show  of 
reason  be  applied  to  the  government  of  the  United  States. 
Steam  and  electricity  have  not  only  annihilated  time, 
they  have  also  eliminated  space,  as  an  element  of  govern 
mental  problems.  Practically,  government  is  now  omni- 
present, in  the  very  person  of  the  ruler,  in  every  part  of 
his  dominion.  There  was  not  a  hamlet  in  the  United  States 
in  which  the  President  of  the  Republic  could  not  address 
her  citizens  or  instruct  his  officials  every  day  without  leav- 
ing his  chair  in  the  AVhite  House.  San  Francisco  was 
just  as  near  the  seat  of  government  as  Baltimore. 

Besides  this,  the  press  supplies  in  modern  times  the 
means  of  universal  knowledge.  The  specific  need  of  one 
section  was  as  fully  known  to  the  other  as  it  was  possible 


ETOHTTNTNE.  495 

for  a  mere  observer  to  expound  it.  The  people  of  Xew 
England  were  as  well  informed  of  the  wants  of  California 
as  of  their  own  needs.  Botii  were  equally  well  understood  at 
the  Executive  Mansion  and  represented  with  equal  ability 
in  the  halls  of  Congress.  Virginia  was  no  nearer  the  seat 
of  government  than  Minnesota — in  fact  not  half  so  near, 
for  the  result  of  the  War  for  Separation  had  made  the  Capi- 
tal essentially  a  part  of  the  JCorth.  The  apprehension  of 
the  fathers  that  the  states  contiguous  to  the  Federal  Capital 
might  unduly  influence  its  character,  was  curiously  set  at 
luiught  by  the  enginery  of  civilization.  There  were  fifty 
telegraph  wires  between  Washington  and  New  York  ;  a 
single  one  more  than  sufficed  for  the  intercourse  between 
the  Capital  and  Richmond.  There  were  morC;,  it  is  true, 
but  they  only  served  to  connect  the  great  commercial  me- 
troplis  with  its  sources  of  supply. 

There  was  none  of  the  ancient  lack  of  information. 
The  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth  were  next  door  neiglibors. 
Knowledge  of  events  was  practically  simultaneous  with 
their  occurrence.  Sentiments,  however,  were  not  trans- 
mittable  by  the  Morse  alphabet.  The  East  knew  the  facts  of 
the  South  and  the  West,  and  these,  in  like  manner,  had  a 
general  and  complete  knowledge  of  the  externals  of  each 
other's  life.  What  the  East  did  not  know  and  could  not 
comprehend  was  what  the  South  or  West  thought  and  felt 
in  regard  to  the  facts  of  their  own  respective  lives. 

It  was  neither  extent  of  territory,  unfairness  of  repre- 


496  EIGHT  Y-NINS. 

sentation,  nor  weakness  of  the  republican  principle  that 
destroyed  the  unity  of  the  great  Republic,  but  that 
polarization  of  tliought  and  sentiment  which  is  an  in- 
herent characteristic  of  all  English-speaking  masses — that 
impulse  wliicli  distinguishes  the  Anglo-Saxon  from  all  other 
peoples  of  the  world — making  it  not  merely  the  great  col- 
onizer of  the  earth  but  the  founder  of  distinct  but  harmon- 
ious empires.  The  very  force  which  unities  the  English 
people  divided  the  Republic. 

The  third  answer  given  to  this  inquiry  is  that  dismem- 
berment was  the  result  of  party  strife  and  factional  dis- 
cord. As  a  reason  for  the  known  result,  this  is  even  more 
fallacious  than  those  previously  considered.  That  parties 
and  factions  were  active  instrumentalities  no  one  can  deny. 
In  every  movement  under  a  popular  form  of  government 
there  must  be  leaders  and  followers — parties  and  factious. 
These  are  not  causes,  however,  but  the  indices  of  the  causes 
that  underlie  such  movements.  Parties  are  but  the  fruit- 
age of  popular  sentiment.  Factions  are  simply  attempts 
to  control  parties.  Political  leaders  may  create  factions, 
but  they  never  can  secure  control  of  a  party  in  a  republic 
except  by  going  in  the  direction  the  party  desires.  In  a 
democracy  the  real  leaders  are  only  forerunners  who  point 
out  the  way  to  the  goal  the  multitude  are  seeking.  In 
the  present  case  there  was  no  factional  or  partisan  interest 
involved  m  the  fact  of  separation.  Those  who  took  the  in- 
itiative not  onlv  liad  control  of  the  government  but  the 


EIGHTY-NtNE.  497 

apparent  power  to  retain  a  predominant  influence  therein 
for  a  generation.  The  only  question  with  them  was 
whether  they  could  peacefully  and  prosperously  maintain 
that  local  supremacy  which  they  deemed  essential  to  the 
domestic  peace  and  security  of  the  section  they  more  im- 
mecliately  represented,  and  still  remain  an  integral  part  of 
the  original  republic.  Very  wisely,  I  think,  they  decided 
that  they  could  not.  So  the  steps  they  took,  instead  of 
being  in  derogation  of  constitutional  government  and  an 
evidence  of  the  weakness  of  the  republican  idea,  are  really 
conclusive  proof  of  its  strength  and  a  guaranty  of  its  per- 
petuity. 

If  there  be  any  cause  outside  of  the  inherent  tendency 
of  the  English  people  to  governmental  polarization,  which 
may  be  said  to  have  been  especially  instrumental  in  pro- 
ducing the  result  which  is  so  A^ariously  regarded  by  differ- 
ent minds.  I  should  say  it  was  the  universality  of  the 
belief  on  the  part  of  the  people  of  the  most  highly  devel- 
oped (and,  in  one  sense,  the  controlling)  section,  that 
such  a  result  was  an  impossibility.  This  curious  over- 
confidence  was  chiefly  the  result  of  a  hundred  years  of  con- 
stant reiteration,  and  was  strengthened  by  the  peculiar 
immunity  of  the  first  century  of  the  national  existence 
from  serious  internal  discord  ;  remarkable  success  in 
two  defensive  wars  ;  the  golden  glamour  of  one  war  of 
conquest  and  aggression  ;  and  the  suppression  of  an  armed 
rebellion  of  unusual  pi-oportions.     The  continuous  recital  of 


498  J^i  o  ir  T  Y.  xiJVJS. 

these  facts  had  removed  all  apprehension  of  such  a  contin- 
gency, and  induced  a  confidence  in  the  iiational  organism 
which  not  only  prevented  the  adoption  of  measures  intended 
to  secure  its  perpetuity,  but  induced  men  to  regard  with 
ridicule  and  contempt  all  hints  of  its  terminable  character. 
Their  blindness  hid  ail  indications  of  a  tendency  to  sub- 
division. Men  regarded  the  Federal  Union  as  destined 
to  be  perpetual  sim])ly  because  it  was  American,  without 
effort,  care,  or  regard  for  inherent  forces  tending  to  dis- 
ruption. With  nations  as  with  men,  the  over-confidence 
which  leads  to  neglect  of  wise  precaution,  is  the  most  dan- 
gerous of  all  conditions,  lie  was  a  wise  man,  tliough  un- 
known, who  wrote  in  that  necropolis  of  genius,  the  columns 
of  a  newspaper,  the  Avords  :  "England  owes  her  glory  to 
the  constant  apprehension  of  invasion." 

The  United  States  feared  no  peril — least  of  all  dis- 
memberment— and  so  neglected  causes  that  a  child  might 
have  seen  not  only  led  in  that  direction,  but,  if  unchecked, 
must  eventually  produce  that  result. 


THE    END. 


.-^nv-'"'  ~c»»» . 


/■' 


n  I  '^  '^ 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 


Wilmer 
1071 


■1^ 


»; 


